


Haunted

by FrancisColeen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, POV Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-09-30 02:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 75,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17215064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancisColeen/pseuds/FrancisColeen
Summary: After a war, many students return to Hogwarts for their final year - including Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy.It's the last chance for Draco for redemption - for confessing the things he's done and the things he wish he did.It's the last chance for Hermione for finding a soulmate - somebody who will be always there. Somebody, who will help her find her parents.





	1. I'm haunted

As if nothing ever changed.

Common Room: still dark, gloomy and very green, with elegant black sofas and armchairs, mahogany furniture and torches giving poor light.

My dormitory: looks exactly the same way it looked when I saw it for the last time; which was, I believe, a year ago. 

Hogwarts' corridors: those are built from the very beginning and look exactly like the old ones: majestatic, huge and full of ghosts (more than before; much more).

Great Hall: no more dead bodies lying in there, just four tables for four Houses and one for professors. It looks just like every day before the war, with sky and clouds above our heads.

Just like it all should be.

"They're afraid of you," Pansy says.

Even though my dormitory hasn't changed, they are still things I need to remove - and things I need to put in here, because at the moment this room looks like Zabini's property. He and Pansy are watching me carefully and I know they won't leave until I do, so I stay on purpose.

I don't really care what they will or will not do. I didn't order them to be my shadows.

"They're all afraid of you," Pansy repeats, probably thinking I didn't hear her the first time; she raises her voice so high the glasses on the table almost shatter. "There's no need to avoid the Great Hall."

"Well, about that," Blaise is leaning against the door, watching me so closely I could believe he's interested in me. I know he's not, obviously, but certainly looks like he could be. "They're not afraid of him, they despise him. That's the difference."

"Slytherins adores you as always," says Pansy with sweet voice. She can be quite a sweetheart when she wants to be. "You still rule this whole building, Draco. We all adore you."

I know she does. She was never good at hiding her feelings; I believe the whole Hogwarts already knows.

I look around. Four-poster beds are perfect, my properties are in bathroom again, just like my perfumes are in the bedside table and my clothes are in my wardrobe. And yet, it doesn't feel like being home. I feel like one of those ghosts and I think I might became one. I just don't know it yet.

It's possible, I think. It's quite possible.

"Golden Trio doesn't," says Blaise. He doesn't adore me as well, but he does adore arguing with Pansy. We both do. Seeing her angry like little puppy is just a view I could laught at; once upon a time, at least. "But Parkinson has a point, mate: you want them to think you're hiding from them? Besides, what do you think those people will do? Throw eggs at you? Come on now. You're a Malfoy."

He really thinks I need a reminder? Being a Malfoy is what almost got me into Azkaban. Hard to forget your family name after that kind of experience.

My father believes it's a price. He would never say that in a Ministry, but he really does think that way. 

My father is a goddamn fool.

"I am not hiding," I say, coming to the mirror. I look like I always do, but I'm just slimmer, and tired, and...

Yes. I look like I'm always tired. It never ends, not really.

But I'm dressed in my school uniform, I see silver-green tie on my shirt again, I see green-black robe waiting for me again. And I am so relieved.

"I had never hide and I never will," I say, dressing the robe. Pansy watches me, probably thinks I'm going to cut myself or something. She always thinks so, no matter what I do (ridiculous, really). "From anything or from anyone. But what's the point with stupid breakfast anyway?"

"The point is you can't---" Blaise starts and stops at the exactly same minute; he just now realizes we're not alone. He glances at Pansy. "Parkinson, could you--?"

"Leave Draco? No way," she growles.

After the war, I appreciate her concern. Not as much as she wants me to, but I really do. She's been obsessed with me and madly in love with me for so long and she's always right there, ready for my every call. 

But appreciating her concern doesn't made her less annoying. She still bloody is and Blaise and I can barely stand her presence. 

No matter how hard she tries, it's just...she'll never be who she wants to be to us. It's sad, it really is, but I believe during the war Pansy experienced many sad things and she'll manage.

Blaise thinks so too, because he keeps glancing at her.

"There is a way, really. See, that's door. You open it and---"

"Parkinson, leave," I said coldly.

I know she'll listen, and she does. She gives me this sympathetic, sad look of a dog thrown to the street, and then she leaves. Blaise watches her and the moment she's gone, he grins wildly and slams the door after her.

He couldn't be more happy.

"Dear Mearlin, I though she'd never leave!" He lays on his bed, sighs, closes his eyes. I know he's just as happy and relieved to be back in here as I am, but he won't ever admit it. "What I wanted to say, Draco, is this: this year will be hard, Golden Trio running around the school, everybody cheering as they sees them. But Parkinson was right at one thing: you're still ruling the goddamn Slytherin House. They all adore you. You are the hero in here."

In those four walls? How comforting. Thank you, Blaise.

I watch my tie, but it's perfectly straight.

"Nothing's really changed," Blaise adds, "it'll be just alright. You're Draco freaking Malfoy."

I am. And I do not need comfort from anybody.

"I am, therefore I'm definitely not a child that needs to be comforted," I say coldly and I grab my bag. My whole skin itches, I think I may go mad of that eventually. It's that feeling that makes me think something is under my skin, not planning to get out. And I hate it. I feel it constantly and I can't get rid of it, I think I never will. "What's our first lesson?"

Blaise looks at me, surprised. Well, I'm surprised myself: I think I might've yell at him once during all those years of friendship, I never raise my voice at him, I never get angry at him. 

I raise my eyebrows. Sentiment. I got enough of that during last year and I can't afford it now. I don't think I'll ever be able to afford it again in my life.

How sad is that.

"Potions," Blaise finally says, "with Slughorn. His last year, before McGonagall will find another potion professor." He stands up, he grabs his bag. He doesn't care his robe is a complete distater, but then, who'll notice? Snape's gone and everybody loves Blaise for being---well, Blaise. Does the robe has any matter?

No, I believe not.

I nod briefly, I go to the door. I know Blaise will be just behind me, then suddenly I'll find him next to my right arm. I always do, it's just the way it is and I don't mind. 

"Oi, Draco," he stops me, he sounds concerned (about me? really?). "You know we've got first lesson with Gryffindors. With Potter, with Weasley...with Granger."

Ah, there it is. This hestitation beetwen two last words.

Does he expect me to burst into flames, hearing that name? Because I definitely don't intend to.

"You think you'll be okay with that?"

No, I believe I'm going to cry. Oh, for God's sake, Blaise.

I snort. "With Granger? Blaise, please. Why wouldn't I be okay?"

He passes me by the minute I open the door. He's not smiling anymore, he's dead serious and not looking at me. Not his usual state, I'm sure. 

"No reason at all. Now go on, we're going to be late."

So what? I'm not in the Azkaban, I sincerely doubt they'd get me a detention for being late.

But I follow him. I'm not dreaming about entering the class full of Gryffindors looking at me. I got enough of that.

Why on Earth would they come back? Potter, Weasley...

And Granger.

Why on Earth would she come back? 

***

She has changed.

Potter and Weasley - no, not really. Why would they? They're definitely more confident, that's obvious: being a war hero helps with confidence a lot. Weasley is as ugly as he's always been, and I don't think he got any smarter. He still can't distinguish his left hand from the right one and he constantly needs Potter around (pathetic, so pathetic).

Potter, who's just Potter. With his scar and disheveled hair, shy and quiet, grinning like a madman to Slughorn.

But she has changed. She's slimmer than I remembered, her face is delicate, like doll's. She's petite, she looks like she could be taken by any wind, but she also looks way more serious and dangerous: that kind of small person that could kill you with one look and makes it very obvious to stay the hell away.

Does she started wearing make-up? No idea, but she looks so...girlish. Soft.

Her hair is definitely another thing. Not that weird nest she used to have on her head. They're curls in the color of both light brown and dark gold, tucked high on her head, with a few strands of hair around her face. She's so slim I can see her cheekbones, but it just makes her look less dangerous and more beautiful.

"You're staring again," Blaise informs me.

"Staring? I'd say he's gazing like a serial killer," Theo adds.

Am I staring? I supppose I do. Well, it's certainly not the first time, anyway, and I don't care.

Why should I refuse myself this kind of pleasure? It's the closest I'm ever going to be and I just can't stop. Watching Granger became one of my habits, I could practically draw her.

She's got narrow eyebrows, now frowning (something's wrong with her potion); small nose, pink lips, warm brown eyes, looking straight at me.

At me.

Oh, dear.

I raise my eyebrows and I'm not looking away. I watch her eyebrows frown even more, I watch her wrinkle her nose (adorable), and finally: I watch her blush, roll her eyes and look away.

Then I look away, too. Just then.

"You find this amusing, don't you?" Blaise shakes his head, he's disappoinented in me; or he just pretends he is.

"How the hell your potion's dark blue?" Theo says. He's standing above his cauldron, his hair is more dishevelled than Potter's, he's red on his face and looks at me like I was the cause of all his problems. "You've done nothing entire lesson!"

I shrug. I read the instructions, I chopped and added and mixed the ingredients without even looking at them. What's the point? The exams are important, and besides - I believe I've got a work already. My mother just wanted me to finish bloody Hogwarts.

What's the point in that either? So I could sit in the dungeon, watching Hermione Granger? Dear Lord.

"Slughorn's on his way," Blaise says warningly. "If I were you, Nott, I'd be mixing all of those much quicker."

What exactly are we doing today? What kind of potion?

"You'd know if you weren't staring at Granger this whole time," Blaise says sharply.

I said this aloud? I didn't even realize.

Perhaps I'm not a ghost. Perhaps I'm just slowly losing my mind without realizing it.

"What's with that anyway?" Theo asks. "What the hell, Draco?"

He's never been my close friend, but he's always been around and our fathers are great friends (they used to be, at least). We started really talking on the sixth year and I must admit Theo is better compan than Crabbe or Goyle - but he can by bloody lonfy and snobbish (I'm a hypocrite, I know that). Sometimes I want to punch him really hard.

And that is one of those moments.

I watch him cooly, waiting for him to roll his eyes and turn away, and then Slughorn comes.

"Well, well, well! Finally some results! Well done, Mr. Malfoy!"

Hold on.

What now? 

I look at him, puzzled, but he's already gone, going to other students. Golden Trio turns to look at me; at least, Weasley and Granger does. Weasley winces with disdain (it doesn't suit him, but to be fair: nothing really does) and Granger just stares at me, so shocked that her lips are parted and her eyes are wide open. She looks at me like she's never seen me before.

I lean back and smirk, and then she blushes furiously and looks away.

Those adorable blushes of hers...it makes her whole little face turn red, she's abashed, she looks like a child that has lost it's parents. She doesn't know where to look.

It's beautfiul, honestly.

"You're scaring the hell out of her," Blaise says. He doesn't sound amused or approved, but he's curious, I can tell. He's interested how strongly Granger can react just by this one, innocent glare of mine.

"That's the point," I reply.

That's certainly not the point. But I must admit, I'm just as curious as Blaise is, wondering how much Granger can freak out because of my glances. She's never noticed them until now; what changed?

Sorry, Granger. I just have to know that.


	2. Can't trust anything now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He does not intend to back down.

"Draco! Oi, Draco!"

Blaise and Theo replaced Crabbe and Goyle.

I can't say it doesn't matter, because it does. Blaise's been my best (and only one, to be honest) friend since we were five, but he refused to be around me with these two dumbheads and to play the role of my minion, so I let it go. Crabbe and Goyle were idiots, but as servants they fitted in perfectly.

If Crabbe was alive and he with Goyle were back in Hogwarts, I think I'd pushed them away anyway. Blaise is my friend and is nice change to have him around in school, and Theo...well. I'm still thinking about it. He's more like a soldier and I've got no idea where his loyalty is. His father is in a goddamn Azkaban and I don't intend to pull my mother or father in that kind of mess ever again.

But it's still a nice change. With Blaise on my right, Theo on my left, I feel...well, surely not safe (Blaise is one dangerous devil and I can never tell what he's up to), but better. I'm always alone, I know that, but I'm not as lonely as I used to be.

It's a nice feeling. I'm telling myself to not get used to it, but it's nice. I missed the harmony around me.

"Draco! Draco Malfoy!"

"I believe it's you," Theo says.

I know it's me, but I know it's a girl's voice and I'm sure it's Pansy, or one of those idiots from her crew - Davies or Greengrass (Lord help me, better not be Bulstrode). The voice is much closer now, though, and I can't really ignore it.

I mean, obviously I can. I just don't think it's a good idea.

I turn around and I shiver from relief.

"Draco, hi," Astoria Greengrass stops right in front of me, smiling lightly, and ignores Blaise and Theo completely. They might as well don't exist. "I was hoping I'd find you. You know, that platinum head is pretty hard to miss."

"Don't be fooled, Astoria, it's just hair dye," Blaise says.

He loves joking about that. He's done it for years now. He truly believes I can't have that colour of hair and it's just hair dye. I'm convinced he started all those rumours in the castle.

"Oh, I know it is." Astoria smiles.

What a betrayal. I look over my arm, at those two standing behind me and grinning (why are they so amused? What's so funny?). "Astoria and I are going to talk, so I'll see you later."

Theo and Blaise look at each other.

"What if we don't intend to leave you two alone?" Theo asks, arms crossed on his chest.

"We're not minions holding your bags, Draco," Blaise smiles to me. "Those days are over."

I believe holding my bag wouldn't hurt Blaise at all. It might teach him to be less bloody childlish and annoying.

I sigh, I turn to Astoria. "Come, those two bastards are really not going to leave. "

"We heard that!" Blaise shouts.

I say it loud enough so he could hear it. What's his point?

Astoria giggles as we walk away. "You really like them, now, don't you? Those bastards," she says. She's slightly amused.

"I enjoy their company from time to time," I say, because I'd never admit Blaise is my family much more than my parents are. "How's it going?"

Astoria is a part of this very narrow circle of girls I can tolerate. I tolerate Pansy, but for really short moment, and I tolerate Granger, of course, although I never had any chance to prove it. Astoria is the third one - two years younger, but not as childlish, annoying, selfish and dumb as most of the Slytherin girls. In another life we could become great friends, maybe even spouses (my parents would be delighted), but for now, I'm just trying to protect her from her big bad sister.

I've got no idea how I started talking to her, really. Till the sixth year, I wasn't even aware of her existence. But then there was this party...

"Surprisingly well," Astoria says. Which year is he in? Ah, yes - sixth, I believe. "I thought Daphne would be better after a war, but---no, not a chance. Being back in Hogwarts, not sharing house with her is relief."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "You're in the same House here, in Hogwarts."

"But not in the same room! She's with her crew and I'm with my friends," she says, smiling. She smiles all the time, it's hard not to admire her for that very reason. "But, what's up with you? It's great to see you with Nott and Zabini, but you don't seem very happy."

I can't tell her I won't be happy ever again. I just can't. Astoria stubbornly wants to believe in goodness in this world, despite the war she's seen. I'm not going to be the one crushing those dreams violently.

"Did I ever look like a happy man?" I say. "I'm alright. Better than I thought I would be."

This one at least is true. I was sure I'd be a shadow in Hogwarts, but I'm not. Pansy was right (she happens to be, once in a while): I'm still Slytherin Prince, in my house I'm the hero, not Potter or Weasley or Granger.

It's not good. It's really not, but it's better than I expected and that's enough.

"Oh, lovely!" Astoria claps, her branselets rings and her laugh makes the world a little bit brighter. "I just though I'd catch you and ask. I know you've got Blaise and Theodore and Pansy, but if you ever needed to talk to someone else---"

"I don't have Pansy," I say before I can think of anything else.

Astoria smiles at me indulgently. "Oh, Draco, don't you always have her?"

I rather not think about that right now. Pansy is not even on the top on the list of things I need to think about or take care of. She can wait.

"Anyway, I'll remember your very kind offer, Astoria," I add. I'm not going to talk about Pansy. "And if Daphne's any trouble--"

"I've been dealing with this trouble since I was born, I think I'll manage," she says. I feel sorry for her, I really do. She's such a cheerful person she can even make me laugh, and Daphne is one of the worst vipers I've ever met. I've met Death Eathers kinder than her. "But I've got this feeling I might need your help this year."

"With what?"

"I don't know yet. I just feel it."

I can't help but smile. This is just Astoria. I realize how much I missed her.

"Always at your service," I say.

"How are, you know, Gryffindors? You've got lesson with them. Was it alright?"

I don't know how to respond to that. I'm used to glances full of despise, hatred and contempt, it's same old. I hadn't noticed nothing special, but then again - I never notice until it's too late.

I shrug. "They've been fine. You don't need to babysit me, Astoria, I can handle a few crazy Gryffindors."

"I'm worrying you'll handle it way too well, Draco."

I frown. What now?

"They're after huge trauma, all of them, most of them fighted and---" she sighs. She clearly doesn't want act like my mother, I can see that, and she has no idea what to say. "Just try to be gentle, alright? Try to be---"

Less myself. How many time have I heard that?

But Astoria isn't like the rest of them, I know that. She's caring, she's worrying, she's a sweetheart. She doesn't mean to disturb me. She's like this little sister, watching over my honor.

The longer she doesn't know I don't have any left, the better.

I kiss her on the top of her head (she's almost as short as Granger, it's hilarious), quickly saying, "I won't hex anybody. Well, I promise I'll try not to."

"Draco!" She's upset, but she can't stop laughing.

Dear Lord, in another life, we would be perfect for each other. I would wait for her after Hogwarts, we would be together, our families would be delighted.

In another life, where I wouldn't be Dracon Malfoy. Former Death Eater, son of Lucius Malfoy with Dark Mark on his forearm.

Maybe the next life. If I don't go to hell for the rest of eternity.

"I'll see you around," I say. "I've got some business to do."

It's time to make Slytherins realize their king is back. For good.

And he does not intend to back down.

***

Everyone is watching.

Same old, I know. But it feels weird anyway. I never thought I'de back here again, alive and proud and confident, as I Slytherin Prince again.

Literally everyone is watching me carefully as I come into the Common Room, as I look coldly at younger students and they just go away, leaving place for me, Blaise and Theo.

That silence is horrible. The heaviest and the loudest I've ever heard.

Everyone is watching, wanting to know what kind of man Draco Malfoy is right now. I won't let them now I'm not man at all, at least I don't consider myself as a human being at this very moment - but I really have no idea how to act. What do I do? What do I want to talk about?

I look at Blaise: he's bored, he's lonfy, as he usual is in front of people.

I look at Theo: he's serious, but I can clearly see little flames in his eyes. He wants to laugh so hard.

Everyone around me seem to laugh at a joke I don't understand.

I look around. There are no stundets from first or second year. The rest of Slytherins, however, just watch me in terror, almost afraid to move (what the hell?). They don't look away from me, watching my every breath, calculating and wondering.

Dammit, Pansy was right. They're all afraid of me and this is certainly not what I intented. I was always admired and respected, maybe a little bit frightening.

But I wasn't a murderer back then.

"Why on Earth is such a wake here?" Blaise says so loudly and unexpectly I must twitch. "I did not remember Slytherins this way!"

Theo smiles, I sigh with relief. Merlin be thanked for Blaise Zabini. He's a devil, not a man, and I'd be long dead without him.

More importantly: I would be lost.

Slytherins around us relax, some of them smile. I see Harper from Quidditch team coming to us, he highs five with Theo and takes the armchair. "Long time not to see, Draco. How's it going?"

He's relaxed, he's calm, he's friendly. It doesn't seem that he wants to spit on me.

I smirk at him lazily. Just the portait of bored, relaxed man, who is sure he's ruling every person in this room.

As it all should be. Yeah, let's play this little game. Let's pretend: this is that one thing I'm good at.

"Must say: great, Harper. When is it going to be a Quidditch practice? Who's the captain this year?"

"Me," Harper says, smiling. He's very proud of himself, I'm sure. "Relax now, Draco, you know you've already got a place in my team."

Not good. If there will be anybody better than me and Harper refuses that person, the team will only get hurt. They'll lose.

That's not my problem. I'm not the captain. Quidditch isn't that important anyway; not right now, at least.

"Good to know." I must be polite, I remember that.

"Come on now, you really thought you wouldn't have a place?" Blaise smiles and I can't really tell if this joy is real or he's jut pretending. He's a bloody good actor.

"Dracoooo!"

Oh, no.

Not now.

But it's already happening and there's nothing I can do. Pansy with her crew are entering the room, she's not wearing school robes; she's smiling and looking at me like a predator, her eyes are shining. I squint my eyes on that look, because it's not me who's victim this evening and Pansy should know that very well from the beginning.

Davies and Greengrass are her shadows. It just like the war never happened: the three of them are still having hideous fun, flirting with others and spreading rumours. Nothing has changed. They still think they're untouchable, they're great, and the mudbloods are just filth on their shoes (they really do, God saves us all).

I think I'm going to be sick. Have they missed the war we've been fighting during whole last year, for Heaven's sake?

"I didn't see you whole day," Pansy chatters, sitting on the couch beside me, way too close; her hand is on my arm and her knee is on my leg. Her lips are milimeters from my ear; I hear her too clearly, too loudly. I've got this impuls to push her as far away from me as possible and I hold it with huge hardship. "How're you?"

Blaise's eyes are shining as he watches Tracey Davies smiling down at him. Dear Lord, I could as well be in a brothel.

I stand up immediately, Pansy looks at me shocked when I leave the common room without looking back (I never look back).

"Don't follow me, Blaise," I warn him as I recognize his footsteps. I know someone's been following me, but just on stairs I can hear it's Blaise. He's got footsteps and grace of an elephant. "I didn't ask for you company."

"You never do, but it never stopped me before," he says, catching up with me. Why is he so bloody tall? I feel like I'm walking next to the young giant. "You alright?"

What a silly question. No, I am most definitely not. And I won't be, ever again.

Could everyone stop asking me about that already? We all know I'm never going to give them the honest answer.

Just like this time. "I'm fine."

"You certainly doesn't look like fine. Look, I know Pansy's--"

I stop immediately. I turn to Blaise and I feel I'm being run out of patience, so I wait a few seconds before I calmly say, "Blaise, do us both a favor: turn around and go back to the dungeons. I saw how your eyes shined when you looked at Davies. You want to have fun tonight? I won't object. Just go, have your fun night, and leave me alone."

"Night? More like short evening," he snorts, amused. He know Davies is nothing more than a slut, he just laughs at it. Not so bad strategy, I must admit. "If you want to be alone, that's fine. I'll let you be. But---are you sure you don't want to come back with me? You should relax a little bit, my friend. Have a good time."

"And Pansy or Daphne Greengrass are going to assure me that?" I can't help it, now I'm amused too. Those two are literally the last people on Earth I'd let touch me. "I'm not going to have fun, Blaise."

"Well, one day you'll have to let yourself," he says stubbornly.

I don't think so. Those days are over and I don't see them ever coming back.

I sigh. "Just go back, Blaise."

"You sure you're alright?" he says, cocking his head. "Because if you're going to cry alone in the bathroom, I'd rather go with you. Watch over you and those little Sectumsempra spells."

I squint my eyes. I wouldn't recommend Blaise provoking me this way, but it's his choice. "Potter surprised me. And I wasn't crying, it was---"

"I don't care," Blaise interrupts, his hands in the air; is he afraid I'm going to attack him? I'm not even sure I've got my wand with me. It's ridiculous. "I rather not know. But since the war ended I never left you alone, not at once, and---"

"I don't intend to jump from the Astronomy Tower, Blaise." I'm becoming bored. This whole conversation is boring. I know Blaise is aware of those things going around in my head, and it's fine. We both know it is. I just prefer him to not being my overprotective bodyguard (last thing I need, seriously). "I'll see you later, once I'm back."

Blaise nods his head...briefly. And then he smiles broadly, "I'll let Pansy know she's supposed to wait for you."

"Oh, you don't want to do that," I say as I turn around.

"I'm really interested where it could go!" he replies, laughing.

I smile under my breath, just because he can't see me. If he couldn't, I wouldn't do that.

Nobody (but Astoria) has seen my smile for a very long time. I'm planning to keep it that way. I don't know why. I just---I believe I don't want people to think I haven't changed either.

Because I have.

I have.

***

The library is dark and empty and it's also one of those places in Hogwarts that hasn't changed at all. This smell of parchment, ink, leather covers and old magic in the air is so far the only thing that can make me this calm.

I'm not a bloody nerd, nothing like that. But this atmosphere...it's amazing. I think it's the most powerful kind of magic I've ever experienced, stronger than Oclumency, Legilimency, Potter...stronger than anything.

God knows I'll never let anyone know about that.

I'm not exactly sure what I'm looking for. I'm just walking endlessly between shelves, I smell those books and words in every one of them, I smell...

Roses?

What the bloody hell?

I stop the minute I realize I'm not alone in here.

God dammit, it's almost after 10. p.m., what anyone could be searching for in school library at this hour? I thought I'm the only person that handicapped, that it's just my thing. I had no idea there are other people who can't find another place for themselves.

It's quite interesting.

However, I don't wish for my presence to be noted. I move back very slowly, step by step, hearing only my own breath (way too loud, just like my heartbeat; dear, am I afraid? Seriously? In the library?), watching letters shining in titles of books like a real gold. I'm in the section with herbs, the one that's visited mostly by Longbottom.

Let's hope it's not him. That's optimistic thought, but I honestly have no idea what to say to him. Hello there, Longbottom. Sorry about the war, the people you've lost because of Death Eathers like me. Ah, sorry about your parents and grandmother, too. How's it going, apart from that?

My best guess is I'll have this bad luck for the rest of my life, as a retribution. Doesn't seem very fair.

I hear humming. Beautiful, quiet humming, which normally I wouldn't be able to hear, but all around me there's dead, heavy silence ruling - the humming could be as well be a sing, I can hear it so clearly, it's in my head.

I feel roses. Rose perfume, very close, very intense.

Hold on, I know that voice. I know that very slim figure I can see between the shadows, being a shadow herself...

Granger.

You've got to be kidding me.

I'm crouched like animal in a trap and honestly, I forgot about getting out. I know I should, I definitely should. I'm supposed to run, even, but I just---choose not to.

Of course she's in the library. Perfect Granger with perfect grades, ambitious, nerd and a bookworm. Who else did I expect, honestly? If there's another person in this castle but me that could be in a closed library at this hour, it's only Granger.

She's in her own world, probably doesn't even realize where she is. She's humming, she's having two books in her arms and she's reaching for the third one. It's hard to really see her, it's so dark in here: library is full of night. But I can clearly see her skirt, her shirt, her dishevelled hair and her petite face as she's reaching to the shelf. She's not able to take it, she's too short. She huffs, irritated.

It's problaby the most hilarious and adorable thing I've ever seen. How can a person be that small?

I'm considering helping her, I really am. It's not really like me, I know that, but she jumps and she can't reach, with every second she's more furious, I can see blushes on her face already. Poor thing.

I could easily walk to her. I could mock her for a bit, then take that book for her, give it to her and walk away, laughing to myself and leave her completely puzzled, without any idea what's going on.

Yes, that would be a lot like me. Puzzling people, leaving them with such a state. Granger wouldn't even be surpised. It's Malfoy, this little cockroach, she would say. That's what he does, that's what he's always done.

Perhaps that's why I'm still hestitating.

I'm watching her closely, I'm thinking. Do I really want to help her? Do I want to get up, walk over, play with her, laugh at her? Do I want to see those furious look on me?

Definitely not. I don't want any of those things---well, maybe I want to walk over, be closer than I ever was.

But then again: what would I say? I apologized to great Golden Trio in Ministry and I meant it, I was honest, I even apologized to Granger personally about this bloody scar, I squzeed Potter's hand. But it was around people watching and Granger is smart enough to know it wasn't a real apologize from the depths of my stone heart.

Hey, sorry about that scar my aunt gave you in my house. Oh, you want that book? Look how short you are, ha! No problem, Granger, here you are.

I'm ill-balanced and I'm a monster, but not like that. Not on a scale like that.

I crouch even more, praying she would go already. It's really uncomfortable in here. How many times she can try? It's obvious: you're too short, you're not able to reach it. Let it go, Granger. 

The door slams, somebody walks in, loudly and confidently.

Miss Pince. Awesome.

I'm trapped in here. Trapped and caught and...

Before I can think of a plan better than sitting there like a little mouse, I recognize red shag in the darkness.

Weasley. Oh, this should be fun.

I don't really enjoy watching Granger arguing, upsetting or being sad, or let the emotions rule her in any kind of way, but I laught at in anyway. If she's angry or sad and I laugh it's a miserable solace: ha, I'm not the only one who's suffering now and if I can laugh at her, it's not so bad.

Well, it's always that bad, but I like to think it's not. And I really despise Weasley, so if Granger is going to punch him or make him feel useless, then it's a really good part of my evening.

Of my whole day, really.

Unless he's going to insult her. I hope not, because I have no idea what I'll do if that happens. Something stupid, problaby. Stupid, sentimental and reckless, and I don't enjoy myself doing any of those things.

I hope an argument (I just like watching those, don't know why) or Granger insulting Weasley. That will be fun. Even Golden Trio is not so perfect as everybody thinks.

Are they great and are they heroes and are they extremely, hideously good people? Obviously. But they are not perfect and it's great solace, too.

I watch Weasley walk over to Granger. He disappears behind the shelf.

"Hermione, there you are." He's relieved (his voice is horrible). "I looked at Map and Harry said you were looking for me. What is it? You were looking for me when it's so la--"

"It certainly wasn't late when I was looking for you."

Hell yes. It's going to be interesting.

She's furious. She was thinking about nice things a minute ago, humming and collecting books to read, but now she's furious. Her voice is cold and full of rage, like a storm that coming slowly, but surely. And it's going to destroy everything.

I want to see that so much. Weasley should be running away already; what a shame I can't see him.

"Wha--"

"I was looking for you almost three hours ago, I'm glad you finally showed up, wherever you've been."

Oh, so they're still together. I must say I'm impressed. I knew they were a couple (That's my girlfriend, Weasley shouted), but it was months ago. I didn't believe Granger would keep with him this whole time (seems I was wrong).

She really could do much better. Why she doesn't, I wonder. It's interesting thought, too.

"What are you talking about? I told you I was--"

"It doesn't matter what you told me, because you lied," she growls. The last time I saw her so angry when she punched me in the face (hurt like hell, but it was awesome). "Imagine my surprise when I saw Dean coming to the Common Room. When I asked him why isn't he with you, he said he talked to you at the lunch. Nothing since then. Mind to explain and tell me where the hell have you been?"

Oh, damn. If Weasley's cheating on her he's way more dumb than I thought he was.

"Mione, I--"

"Don't call me Mione. Not unless you tell me where have you been, Ronald."

I try not to move, but I can't feel my right foot, dammit.

"I'm sorry I lied to you, I really am, but it's just--"

"Where. Have. You. Been. Are you going to tell me or not?"

Silence. Weasley sighs. "No. Sorry, but I can't, I really can't."

More silence. Is she going to punch him? (Please, yes).

"I see."

I see, too. I can see you, Granger: you're holding those books next to your chest and you storm out. You're walking so fast you don't notice me, praise the Lord, and the door slams after you.

"Mione, no, hold on! It's not what you think, it's really not! Ask Harry, I didn't--" He's running after her (he's not going to catch her, she'll walk away). "Hermione, you know me, you know I wouldn't--wait!"

The door slams again. It's silent.

I'm alone and I'm grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here goes chapter #2  
> I'd like to say credits goes as well to my friend, @Yushiami, who's been editing my chapters, searching for mistakes in my English, and correcting them.  
> Thank you.


	3. Like it's all a big mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's a low blow.

"It's a very, very bad idea."

I watch over my shoulder just to look at Blaise. It's very strange advise coming from a man sleeping with one of the worst witches in the whole Hogwarts, but I'm intrigued anyway; after all, I haven't told Blaise a thing about what I'm planning to do. He can only guess.

But then again, I didn't even give him a reason to guess anything. Is he that smart, way more than I suspected? 

Doubt that.

Perhaps he's just very observant or he just thinks I'm always plotting something (he wouldn't be wrong, though). He's definitely smarter than Theo (didn't expect that), because he looks at Blaise with frown and can't figure out the hell is he talking about.

But he remembers Tracey Davies.

"Coming from a man who slept with Davies-" he says, dramatically stopping his voice, "I wouldn't take advice from that kind of madman, Draco."

"I don't intend do."

"What are you talking about, Zabini? Enlighten us, would you?" Theo says.

(Us? Ha.)

It's quite funny how people refer to Blaise by his family name. He doesn't mind (he never said he does) and is used to be called that way; the only funny fact is people started to believe 'Zabini' is his first name. The name he uses.

Perhaps I will use it some way, someday. Not now, though. I've got bigger plans on my mind.

And Blaise knows that perfectly; he knows me way too well, but I guess there's no coming back from that. I'm already lost.

(I've been for my whole life, I think).

"He's up to something," Blaise says accusingly, poiting at me. "I can see it. You're going to do something, Draco, something that's not going to end well. I advise against that."

"You advise?" Theo raises eyebrows at him. "Good reason do exact opposite."

"Weren't you supposed to--" 

"Enough." I'm surprised by the cold tone of my voice; and even more once I realize these two blocks actually listened and fell silent (amazing). "I'm always up to something, Blaise. Let it go."

"Exactly: always. And every one of your ideas turns out to be a complete disaster."

Theo is silent; strange. I look at him, at his face like a stone, and then he sighs. "I'd agree with Zabini, but-"

"But you're not able to admit your discomfiture," Blaise says joyfully. He is mostly joyful around me, like a little child who wants to annoy everybody around him; and make them laugh at the same. (It works sometimes).

"Discomfiture?" Theo repeats like an echo (he knows this word perfectly, he reads dictionaries when he's bored).

I stop listening to them. Blaise is not really wrong: I'm usually up to something, planning or plotting some action (kills the time, gives me something to work at) and most of those ideas didn't end very well. But...well, would I still be Draco Malfoy if I stopped?

The family name is the only thing I have left. Yes, in the end it brought me nothing but a misery and pain and regret, but it's the only thing I've got left that's still fully mine; thing no one can take away from me. 

And so, I have to stay that way. Be Draco Malfoy, no matter what that means.

And what Draco Malfoy in Hogwarts does on daily basics? Plots, obviously. He's plotting, planning, contriving. And that's exactly what I intend to keep doing.

"Draco!"

"Oh, would you look at that." Blaise smiled, quite pleasant with himself, and I don't need more evidence he's done something I'm not going to enjoy.

I turn around and fight the impulse to scream and run away (I'm a Malfoy, I never scream and I never run away; I broke this rule once and I won't do it again) as my eyes see Pansy coming to us. She looks like a human this time, with school robes and her hair in a ponytail, without lipstick or black eyes. She looks...drolly. And she's sad.

If she's coming to me for comfort, then I really need to consider running away. And I need to do it quickly, she's only few feet away.

I turn to Blaise. Arm to arm with Theo, they're laughing to tears and it could be an unusual view, but it's not the first time when those two are planning something against me. I squint my eyes, because I'm not going to pretend to be as amused as they are. We used to do this hilarious Parkinson Show with running away from her or mocking her, but it's over now. We are not children anymore.

I glare cooly at them both. "What did you two barstards do now?"

They're not able to answer me, they're laughing too hard. That is, Blaise can't catch his breath and he's holding his stomach (I could kick him right there, that would stop the laughing) and Theo, way more composed (he always is) is covering his mouth with his hand, but he's laughing hard too, no doubt.

"Go to hell," I drawl. What's so bloody funny? I'm still not getting this joke, like everybody else seems to. "You didn't tell her to really wait for me, did you?"

I suspect they did.

"Zabini told her you're in the bad mood," Theo says, grin still on his face. He looks like a jackal. "That is, that you were yesterday. Nothing more than that, I swear."

I look at Blaise, still laughing, but now going away, too. Theo squizees my arm, but I don't see compassion in his eyes; just amusement. Oh, it's so funny, right. "Sorry, Draco. You're on your own and I wish you good luck."

(Same old, same old, I'm always on my own; come on now, Nott).

I watch them run away like little children they are, and then I turn away; Pansy is standing right in front of me, her big eyes shining from tears. I presume she's going to pour out a stream of words from herself, feel pity for me, feel mercy. (Oh, poor Draco!).

She's done it many times during the past and I can't imagine why I found it so great. Like on the third year, when my arm was broken (only for one night, though; I prentented to be injured for a whole month). Did I really enjoy that? Why, on Earth, would I do that?

Pansy looks like a mess, she really does: dark circles under her eyes, she might've been crying, she looks like she's completely lost. It seems she's going to burst into tears in any moment now and I really don't want to be around when that happens. Comforting others? Hugging them? Encouraging words? Totally not my area. 

I have to get rid of her. Now.

"Look, Pansy, I'm-"

"No, I am," she says with the saddest voice I've ever heard from her. I'm puzzled. "I'm sorry."

What now?

"Sorry, what?" I can't really say anything else because I've got nothing on my mind right now. I'm too startled (what the hell is going on?).

"I acted as in the old days last night," she says, not looking at me anymore (I'm not sure, she's looking at my lips or my chin; hard to tell, really). "You know, before the war. I shouldn't have. You must've felt--hemmed."

Hell yes I felt hemmed since I left as soon as possible. I'm shocked Pansy came to that conclusion; unsless, of course, Astoria talked to her.

(Doubt that).

"And I'm sorry. You don't need that kind of entertainment after--everything that happened, right? Right, I know, I know you don't. If you did, you'd come to me like you used to, right?"

Oh, hell. 

I really don't want to think how I used to use Pansy on fifth and sixth year. I really prefer not to. 

I shouldn't be worrying about that, I know. I'm can't the past anyway, and Pansy is not an angel herself; she wanted it desperately, I could say. But it's not right, it's not good, I know it's not.

Dammit. If only I could cast a spell that would make her forget that (problem would be solved, I'm sure).

"I won't come to you for this ever again, Pansy," I say as calmly as I can manage. "I think these times are over. Don't you?" 

She's puzzled. She didn't expect that: she immediately raises her eyes at me, opens her mouth in shock. "You mean--never?"

"It wasn't fair," I say. "As for last night, you stepped over the line. Apology accepted."

What has happened to Pansy during a war? I know her parents are pure-bloods, but weren't Death Eathers. She problaby hid in Parkinson House and survived everything; and yet, it seems she got a little bit smarted. Maybe she saw the horrors of the war at some point and realized...

No, I don't think so. But something must've happened, I'm sure.

"Draco, wait!" She stops me when I want to turn away from her, clenches her fingers on my robe. "I don't want to be overbearing anymore, I want you to like me."

Well. Can't say I like her now, that would be a hideous lie. 

I'm waiting.

"So, I was thinking, we could make it to be friends, I'm not so silly as you and Zabini and Nott think I am--"

Yes, we do. Shame to admit, but we most definitely do think that; because Pansy, well, really is silly. And not really bright. And...

Oh, there she is.

"Great you apologized, Pansy. I've got to go." I pass by he her, I'm approaching the stairs as quickly as I can; right when Granger puts her feet on the ground.

(She's alone, how perfect is that).

"Hello there, Granger."

She shouts. She jumps away, frightened, and I almost laugh at that. I didn't inted to scare her, no no, and I certainly didn't expect reaction like that. But dear Lord, how funny that was. Is it so easy to scare her, after everything she's been through?

(Can't help it: I glance at her forearm, where the scar is hidden).

"Malfoy!" She glares at me. "What the hell?"

Change of habits, as I see. I smirk wryly. "Who on Earth taught you words like that, Granger?"

"Not your business, Malfoy, I'm sure. I'm in hurry; what do you want?"

Here's the part I haven't thought about.

I assumed she's going to growl at me and leave in hurry, leaving me no choice but to shout I heard little argument between her and her (sickening) boyfriend. But she's just standing, glaring at me...and waiting.

That girl is full of surprises.

She doesn't look like a girl, though. Not anymore. She's a young (beautiful) woman. She looks like a warrior (and I know she is). Like a warrior and a little nerd, too: with her bag full of heavy books.

Alright, what do I do?

I play for time (I usually do). I lean against a wall with my arm, I smirk at her (I know she hates it; I look arrogant and ignorant, I look like I think I'm better than her and it makes her furious). "Troubles in paradise, from what I heard."

She sighs (disappointed? What the hell?). "Just when you apologized to us in the Ministry, Malfoy. You'll never change, will you?"

Did not expect that.

I raise my eyebrows, I'm still playing for time (I have no idea what do to; be polite? Now?).

"Relax, Granger, I'm not going to mock you. I just want to know what your loathshome boyfriend did that you got so mad at him."

(Not at all as I planned; I may be panicking, I don't really know).

She's just more annoyed, she narrows her eyes. "First of all, Ron is not loathsome; if anybody is, it's definitely you." (Lie). "Second of all, I am not mad at him, and--" She stops, she looks at me outraged. "You were there! In the library!"

I look at her with pity. "Yes, Granger, because I've got nothing better to do than sitting in the library during my free time. That is surprisingly correct."

"Don't mock me, Malfoy, I'm not in the mood," she growls (no doubt she's not). "What's going on between me and Ron is not your business. Insult him or me one more time, and I swear--"

"Hey there, Granger, relax a bit. If it's posibble for you, obviously." Damn, I didn't want to say that, it came out so wrong. "Truce, remember?"

"Truce, you say? Really? And what exactly did you do to honor that truce?"

That's a low blow. I raise my eyebrow at her again (arrogant, ignorant, haughty; how she must hate it). "We both know I could've named Weasley way worse. Or Potter. Or you. But I didn't. There are forbidden words I was obliged not to use."

She looks at me...mockingly. She tilts her head, her brown eyes (color of milk chocolate) are full of derision. In any moment now she may start sneering at me (didn't see that one coming). I had no idea she could do something like that.

She really is full of surprises. I can't help but wonder: if I knew her better, if we were talking, how often would she suprise me? (Very often, I imagine).

I'll never know.

"Oh, yes," she says coldly, sneeringly (knew it). "Mudblood. Is that the word? Did I put the accent right?"

She's stubborn like hell. I can't really blame her she remembers everything and she's never going to forget, but still. "Did I call you that just once, Granger? No, I did not. I apologized, for God's sake."

"And you really think that's enough? Along with insulting my boyfriend and mocking me? That's your apology, Malfoy?" she shakes her head in disbelief. "It's a nice change, not being insulted by you, but apart from that: nothing's really changed, has it?"

Of course it has. Way more than you know, I say in my mind.

She's not full of surprises, she's not interesting. She's bloody stubborn and annoying. At my funeral, she'll probably remind me of all my sins. I don't even have to remember them: Granger does. And she won't ever forget.

Why am I even surprised?

"Granger," I say. I don't know where my cold look and my smirk disappeared, but it doesn't matter anyway. All I can see is her back now, she won't look at me again (better for me). "I just wanted to congratulate you." Will that baffle her? Oh, definitely, I have no doubt in that.

She stops. She's not walking away from me anymore. "What now, Malfoy?"

"You're in relationship with Weasley for how long now? Few months, is that it?" I start walking, I'm closer and closer. "Impressive. Didn't think you'll manage for that long."

She looks at me puzzled, frowning when I'm passing by her. I smirk at her, I play amused (well, I am a little bit), and then I'm going away, straight to the Great Hall.

Blaise and Theo are waiting there for me. Pansy is, too: she watches me like a dog watches its owner, when I take my seat.

(Pansy, don't, seriously).

"Where have you been?" Theo asks. "Parkinson came back a few minutes ago. Where were you, during this?"

"Realizing my plot, about which Blaise was so whining about," I say, pouring myself a tea.

I miss coffee at Malfoy Manor. Can't believe I'm even thinking that, but I really do. Before war, Malfoy Manor had everything I wanted, including good coffee.

Have to take care of that.

"What now?" Blaise stares at me, just before Granger walks to Great Hall. I don't look at her (don't want to; I always want to, but I'm not going to), but Blaise does. 

And he curses under his breath, before really loud, "What the hell, Draco?"

I smile. I have to.

Come on, now, Blaise. It's not that bad.

***

"You can't play with her," says Blaise.

"What now?" I search through my bag, I'm checking if I've got everything. I'm not looking at him.

Sharing a dorm with just Blaise has its perks. Is he loud, sometimes annoying, does ridiculous things and litters this room with his trash? Obviously he does. But it's just the two of us and it's a comfort I mildly enjoy.

"Hermione Granger. You cannot play with her."

Should have expect that. 

"And why is that, protector of young girls?" I ask, turning to him. I can help amusement as I see his face, so serious. He's trying to look dangerous, no doubt. "You should make yourself a badge, you know. We've had those on our fourth year, it's not hard to make one."

"I'm serious, Draco, you--you just can't."

"And you're so caring now, is that so?" I lean with my back against windowsill; it appears to be a long conversation. I don't enjoy it (I know it's going to be unpleasant or boring or those two at once),but if I leave now, Blaise will just come up with it another time; in Theo's presence, maybe (I prefer not). "What's going on, Blaise?"

"You tell me. Granger looked shocked this morning, just if she was thinking about something very deeply, solving a mystery or anything like that. What did you do? Gave her hope, false signals? Because she's part of the Golden Trio, she's a war hero, and-"

"And she hates me," I finish. "Relax, Zab, I don't intend to play her. Even if it was be possible, I'm not going to. You can take a deep breath and stop whimpering like an old housekeeper already."

"Very funny," Blaise winces. "Hilarious. Look, Draco, I'm not dumb-"

"You certainly act like you are sometimes."

(He ignores my words; I know he'll come back to it later.)

"--and your plan is about Granger. As your best friend, would you mind telling me what's it all about?"

I roll my eyes. Worse than conversations in my father's office. "I am not going to play her or make any allusions to her. Better now?"

"Not at all. I want to know what you're planning to do."

I'm not enteriely sure myself and I really don't know how to explain it to Blaise.

I shrug. "I don't know, really. Annoy her like she annoys me? Find out about her sudden interest in me? Have my fun, see if we can live like a normal people?"

"We? You mean us and Gryffindor or you and Granger?" Blaise crosses his arms. "Either way, you're going to have your fun."

"I am not."

"Then why all this? You're bored?"

"I don't know!" I snarl.

"What do you want, then?"

I don't even know, to be honest.

I want my nightmares to stop. I want my skin to stop inching, I want to get rid of Granger, I want to never see her again. I want to be a person, real person, instead of this broken, damaged thing I am, I want the Dark Mark to disappear, along with my father and Malfoy Manor, this place is full of blood and screams now. I want to be free and far away from here, and I want these voices in my head to stop already.

I found myself sitting on the floor and Blaise sitting in front of me, looking at me, and I have no idea how I ended up where I am.

I'm losing my mind. I know I am.

To hell with all this.

"Perhaps you want to be friends before it's all over," Blaise says gently. He never speaks gently, he never did, not even once. I'm alarmed. "I could help you with that."

I laugh histerically. I don't have friends and I won't ever have. I've got Blaise and no one else, and this is how it's going to be . Always. 

(It's a relief, really; I don't want anyone else to know a damn thing about me).

"Yes, holding hands with Gryffindors is my biggest dream," I say, standing up again. How pathetic it must have been? I'm glad nobody but Blaise saw that. "Let's go, we're going to be late. You couldn't have stand that, could you?"

"Draco, just--why all this? On what purpose are you doing this?"

I clench my fingers on the doorknob (damn, it's cold and it's burning in my skin; hilarious). I would like an answer to Blaise's question, I really would.

"No idea, Blaise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there goes chapter #3, 20 more to go.  
> It's a bit chaotic, I know it is, but Draco is a chaotic man. He survived the war, he must be.  
> Thank you for all the Kudos.


	4. Stood there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will believe.

For Merlin's sake, Draco, cut this glance off right now."

Funny. I didn't realize Blaise became my boss now, or my parent.

I look at him, eyebrows raisen, and Blaise---well, he doesn't get ashamed (he wasn't ashamed even once during his whole life, I think), but he stops. He backs off and sighs. "Fine. Just wanted to help you, but I see you're already lost."

(Getting it just now, Blaise?)

I smirk slightly and turn around. Granger looks same as usual, dressed in Gryffindor robes (I wonder how would she look in Slytherin's ones; would green and silver been good colours for her), her hair is bun on her head. Weasley is a one lucky bastard, and he's done nothing to deserve her.

Neither did I, obviously.

"What's the matter with her?" Theo is as surprised as one person can be. He watches me carefully, probably suspecting I'm mentally injured. Must say I understand him: I should hate Granger for being both Gryffindor and Muggleborn, but I don't. And I'm almost done pretending. "You want to shag her or something?"

Thought about it (multiple times), but that's never going to happen. I almost laugh. "You really think I don't have better things on my mind, Nott?"

"You certainly don't. How did it go with Pansy?"

I shrug (Pansy isn't important) and lean back on my chair, my eyes still on Granger. She's writing very quickly: wrinkles her nose, looks at the text in the book, and just then she smiles. It's a bright, happy smile, this kind that makes other people smile and make them believe there's good in this world after all.

(I'd like to believe that too, Granger. I really would.)

She's satisfied, she's happy. She probably knows the spell, she knows it's going to be easy one for her (isn't everything easy for her?). She's taking her wand, she smiles to friend sitting next to her. Potter and Weasley are away, but they're watching her, though, just like I am. I know what will happen, Granger will cast the spell perfectly, as she always does. 

"How could it go?" I say. Granger floats her wand, smile still dancing on her lips. "She apologized, I accepted, she said she wants me to like her. She's not going to be overbearing anymore."

I can almost hear glances Blaise and Teo exchange with each other.

"She always is," Blaise finally says. Quietly; Pansy is just behind us, probably trying to understand the spell.

Granger doesn't have a problem with that. She performs a semicircular move with her wrist and I know it worked: it's silver shield spell and it works perfectly, a stream of bright white light that has emerged from her rivarly's wand splashes on an invisible surface. 

The girl laughs; she's not surprised (hard to be; I'm not either), and Granger grins to her, she's happy. Wasn't she sure about succeeding? She always succeedes. She never fails.

"Pansy will always be overbearing, so don't fool yourself, Draco. She didn't came back satisfied: what did you say to her?"

If you're so curious, Nott, why don't you just ask her?"

"Because I'm not a child to walk from person to person, asking what they've been talking about." 

Granger turns to her friends, wants to see how they're doing. It seems like her and Weasley didn't talk it all out yet, because she's looking straight at Potter. Weasley is red on his face; from embarassment or hard work? Difficult to tell, I suspect both. 

"It's just---well, you know she's obessed with you. She's always been. I feel kind of sorry for her."

"For Parkinson?" Blaise laughs. "She didn't even fight during a war, she was hidden in her house and didn't left it until it was all over. She hadn't lost a thing, she's still this spoiled little brat. Why would you feel sorry for her?"

"Because I'm a human, Zabini."

"So am I, but Parkinson is not. Leave your sympathy for those you really need it."

"Nobody needs it," I say calmly. "Sympathy equals mercy and people hate that.

"No no no, my friend," Blaise leans to me and I have to lean away, glare at him. He grins, seeing this (moron). "People don't hate that. You hate that."

"And most people do as well," I say, pushing him away (my personal space). "If you feel sorry for Pansy, Nott, go out with her. She'll be overjoyed."

"Going out with Parkinson. What a great idea," he says sarcastically. 

He's not lying, he does feel sorry for her. He looks at her (she's probably watching me; nothing new), checking how is she. There's sympathy on his face every time he turns to give her a short glance.

"Nobody told her to be obsessed with me," I add, "but Blaise is right. She didn't feel the war, Theo. You can let go, she's perfectly fine." I'd know if she wasn't, because I'd be the first person she would talk about it. It's always this way. I know about Pansy way more than I would like to know. Most of this stuff are useless.

"Nobody told her to be obsessed with you?" Theo repeats (why does he do that? He heard me very clearly). "You are one piece of douchebag, Draco."

"Don't I know that?" I smirk, because it's really nothing new, and (surprisingly) this thought is great. It's better to be a douchebag than a moron, I believe.

Granger's not watching her friends anymore. She's talking to the girl sitting next to her. What's her name? It's not Weasley's sister. I don't know the face.

"She's going to notice this, you know," Blaise says to me.

She hadn't noticed it during the last six years. Why would she notice it know?

Although she did notice during potion lessons. That's interesting: she never did before. Why now? What changed?

I watch her as she's chatting, smiling and gesturing, telling some kind of story (wonder what is it about; it seems to be a funny one). She's having a great time (good). Her hair got dishevelled from perfoming a spell, the bun is askew, but she still looks great, like a little ray of sunshine.

I hear the ring; the lesson is over, we've got no more classes with Gryffindors today.

"Come on, blondie."

"Sod off, Zabini." Not really bright answer, but it'll do. I follow Blaise and Theo follows me, and we're leaving the classroom before the others does.

Well, almost.

"Malfoy!"

I turn around and can't believe my own eyes as I see Potter going directly to me. He doesn't look angry, though. He looks...uptight. Nervous. Not sure what to do.

"Potter," I nod my head to him as he's stopping to talk to me.

"Malfoy, we---"

"Don't imagine to much, Potter, there's no you with Draco," Blaise says nonchalantly, leaning on my like I was some goddamn prop. "And by the way, hello to you too."

"Zabini, Nott," Potter is impatient (very). "Malfoy, do you mind if we talked? I've got some thing to discuss with you."

It's interesting, since I've got no idea what this could be about. Granger complained? No, I don't think so, it's not like her; besides, I didn't do anything. I congratulated her. I was more polite than I was ever before.

"I may have a minute, Potter." I look at him, pretending bored, a little arrogant, and look over at Blaise and Theo. "I'll catch up with you."

"And tell us everything." Blaise grins and walks away; Nott winks before he follows him.

I turn to Potter. Conversation with Golden Boy is the last thing I wanted to do, but here we are. "What is it, Potter? Try and be quickly, I'm not going to spend my whole free time with you, do forgive."

"It's not my favorite idea of spending the break either, believe me," he says. He's glaring at me, but he's trying his best in being kind (not bad, Potter). "The Quidditch pitch, you've got it reserved on---"

Really? This? "Don't talk to me about that, Potter. Harper is the captain."

He frowns. "Who now? Harper?"

Shocking, I know. Everybody knows I should be the captain, I know that too, but because of my experience with Dark Lord I've lost almost all of my privelegs. I'm lucky I didn't get locked in Azkaban; being in Hogwarts is practically a miracle (didn't ask for it). "Unfortunately, yes. He substituted me once, remember?" When I was busy repairing that stupid wardrobe.

I hate remebering that. And now Potter remembers it, too, I can see the glimpses of understanding on his face.

Wonderful.

"Oh, right. He's the captain, then?"

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"Right. One more thing: leave Hermione alone. I saw you staring at her during the lesson."

I raise my eyebrows. Oh, there we go. So staring at someone's face is a crime, now? Didn't expect that (could have, though). 

Potter must sees something in my face, because he rolls his eyes and adds, "It didn't seem like you had bad intetions, and we've got a truce: I could remind you---"

"Granger doesn't look so tragically like she did during all those years, Potter," I interrupt him. "But good to know while I looked at her, you were gazing at me."

He scoffs, "Gazing. Right. Don't flatter yourself. It's just---we've got a truce and you might want to honorthat people you've got this truce with are going through some obstacles now. They're having a hard time. And if you want to piss Ron off, you're doing a wonderful job."

That's the information I intend to keep.

I can't help but smile. "Relax, Potter, I don't care about relationship between your minions. I looked at Granger. Weasley got pissed. He's got serious mental problems, I'll try my best to stop myself before he hurts himself and lands in hospital wing. Anything else?"

"You could've put it nicer, but basically---that's all. Great you understand."

"Unlike your friend, I'm not mentally poor."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Careful there, Malfoy. It's my best friend you're talking about."

I sigh. "Oh, yes, right. Is this all? You're done wasting my time?"

It's still a progress I'm talking to him at all. He shouldn't expect nothing more.

And it seems like he doesn't, because he just sighs. "Definitely done, Malfoy."

Great. I walk away from him as quickly as I can.

***

Where the hell is Zabini?

Theoretically, everything's possible in this castle. It's bloody Hogwarts, when portairs are talking and stairs are moving and Peeves could lock bunch of children from first year in some empty classroom just for fun. It's also extremely huge castle and I guess Blaise could get lost in in even though he's been attending here for years now.

Where did he go? 

I must say I got used to his presence. When he's not around I feel like I've lost something. And when nobody knows where he is...well, obviously I don't have any reason to worry about him (and I don't), but I would really like to find him.

Can't figure out why Nott isn't here with me, searching for him. He and Blaise have their ups and downs, that's true, but every relation with Nott looks like that. My best shot is he actually enjoys Blaise's presence, but it's simply too lazy to get up from comfortable armchair and search for him.

Bloody moron.

When I first came to Hogwarts, I was impressed. I was so impressed I almost fell from my boat straight to the lake. After all this time I'm still impressed a little bit, watching this old architecture, majesty and enormity of this building. It's magic itself, it really is. And it feels like home. 

But at the moment, I hate this castle, who's hide my best friend well enough for Blaise to be gone for almost an hour. I'm running around those corridors like an idiot for fifty minutes now and Blaise doesn't seem to be anywhere around.

One day, I'll just let him be. Even if I need him or want him around, I'll just leave him without any trying. I will do that, I'm sure.

What a shame that today is not that day. Because at the moment, running after him is bloody inconvenient.

Why would he be gone? He's always around with either me or Nott or someone from our year, he's never alone. Why would he want to disappear? Suspicious, very.

Oh, praise the Lord, I can hear him. I don't recognize the words yet, but I can hear his voice very clearly, I wouldn't mislead it. It's gentler than usual, though. Almost like if it wasn't Blaise speaking (stranger with every minute). I'm accelerating my pace, overcoming a corner and there he is.

Not alone, obviously. Like I said: he's never alone. 

And yet, he got me in the surprise. (Touché, Blaise, really. )

He's talking to Weasley girl. (Not sure what her name is. Something with G. Gilly? Gill? Ginger, perhaps? (That would be a good one). Oh, maybe Jenny?)

Why is Blaise talking to her?

Well, not exactly talking. They're standing next to the stairs, in front of each other, looking at each other. Weasley doesn't look bad, she's nothing like her brother - she's slim, athletic, tall, with nice skin and hair that reminds of fire. Yet, she still looks like a little doll in front of Zabini...and she manages to look him straight in the eyes.

I froze.

Those two are looking at each other as if they were the only people left in the world: their eyes don't leave each other's for even a second. Blaise's expression is full of compassion, sympathy, gentleness: it's softness I've never seen. Hers is full of regret and pain and honesty. It seems like they were looking at each other, seeing things that others cannot see. 

I'm going to be very sick. I think if I walked into them snogging it wouldn't be as intimate and emotional as this. 

This is bloody Weasley - Weasel's sister. She's quite nice, yes she is, but she's also fierce, malicious and I believe she would kick me really hard if I gave her friends or family one wrong look.

Blaise needs to be saved...immediately.

"Well, well, well. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Cliché, I know, but this always works the best and has the best input. My tone speaks better than my words and that's exactly my point.

They break off and the magic of this moment is gone like it was never really there (good). Weasley glances at me, angry and alerted, ready to fight if needed (this one is a real lioness, nothing like her brother, the weasel). Blaise blinks and looks at me, shocked, puzzled, a little bit annoyed. He looks at the girl again. "Weasley, I---"

"Great talk, Zabini, really. Gotta go." She passes him by and walks away too quickly for it to be natural.

And that would be it.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Blaise glares at me. I didn't realize he's that mad (at me). "Did you really have to break it?"

"Do you really think it'd be that great if you kissed her and had the whole Golden Trio breathing down your neck?" I ask. "Including Potter, the savior of our world, her fiancé?"

I think while I'm speaking - and I realize I'm right. Potter would be furious, Weasel would be furious, Granger would be furious. Really angry Golden Trio attacking my friend, with everybody on their side.

That wouldn't do any good for sure.

Blaise knows it just as well as I do. He lets go, he lowers his arms and sighs heavily (regret? Oh my). "He's not her fiancé yet, they're just dating."

"We both know they'll get marry as soon as they finish Hogwarts," I reply. Why is he so dispirited? I watch him carefully, it's not the Blaise I know. "You don't actually fancy her, do you?"

"No, it's just---I feel guilty, you know? She was crying when I found her. Death Eather killed one of her brothers, remember?"

Of course I do. I went to that goddamn funeral.

It's one of those few things Blaise doesn't know about me and I'd like to keep it that way. I roll my eyes instead of telling him (yeah, that's good, that's good thing). "Yes, yes, I remember. What about it? You comforted Jenny Weasley and your heart started to ache?"

"What now?" he frowns. "Her name is Ginny. Ginny Weasley. Ginevra, actually."

(Do I need that information? I don't think so; what for?)

"And yes, I felt---I was a Death Eather. It could've been me."

For Heaven's sake. 

"If I remember correctly, her brother was killed by Rockwood, pureblooded wizard who believed in Dark Lord and everything he represented. You and I, we didn't have a choice, we had to join his army. We didn't want this and we weren't cold-blooded killers. Her brother's death doesn't include you in any sort of way, so--"

"The things is: I could've killed someone's brother too, Draco."

These are the thoughts I don't let myself to have (too often). I push back from the wall. "Yes, you could. So could I, but we didn't, so stop being a sad old lady and come on. I've been looking for you for nearly an hour."

His expression changes in one second, he immediately starts to grin slyly and mischieviously. He's going to mock me and I'm prepared. "Really? You were searching for me that long? Were you worried about me, Draco?"

"Shut it," I'm going down the stairs. I'm so tired and hasn't been a month year. 

Why did I come back? What for? So I could torture myself over and over? Wish I could come home. (If I had one I'd certainly did, I'm sure.)

"And where's Nott? Searching another part of castle? How moving is that! I'm touched, Draco, I really am."

(I know he's not).

"Tracey's been looking for you, too. She said something about a thing you promised a few nights ago--she's really looking forward to it, you know. She was very willing to help us and I think you should go to her immediately."

I try not to laugh watching Blaise's face going frightened, and I don't, in the end. Laugh starts somewhere in my chest, ready to burst...and then it doesn't. It just fades.

I'm not sure I'm still able to laugh. But it's great I could, though. It's great I felt this warm in my chest for just a few moments.

"You had to do this, had you? Thanks a lot, you bloody aristocrat. I'm going to have to hide for the rest of the evening!" He pushes my slightly and runs down the stairs.

So it wasn't just misunderstanding, he really did promise her something.

Devil. Not a man. Devil with horn and a tail nobody but me can see.

Perhaps I will laugh at Blaise someday. It's possible.

I will believe it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, chapter #4.  
> It may seem I add chapters too rarely, but I'm not giving up on this and I'm not stopping publishing it until there's epilogue. There's a lot stuff going on right now and I'm aware there's very small number of people who are reading this, but I promised myself I will finish it and I will publish it. Also: sorry for my English, I know it's not perfect, if you see a mistake, just write to me about it, please. I won't be offended, I'm still working how I operate this language and it's good to know I did something wrong and have to correct that.   
> Hope it's enjoyable, thank for the Kudos <3


	5. Fragile line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Devil incarnate.

The first important lesson from my father? You're a Malfoy. We are not goddamn fools. Behave like a Malfoy: proud, rich, pureblooded.

I had many lessons from my father. Each one slightly different, but in the end it was always the same: don't bring shame upon your family, don't make friends with mudbloods, don't ask for anything, never beg, don't run away. I honestly think my whole life could be summarized it two words: do not. 

(Well, there always was alternative: must not).

My father claimed that Malfoys are rich, grand, extraordinary. That we are not fools; but in the end, he was a goddamn fool himself.

What was he thinking, I wonder. Every time he screamed at time or insulted me, every time he tried to teach me and make me the exact person he was: undaunted and superior to all the others, what was he thinking? I'm doing the right thing, son, I love you?

I asked him about that, but only once. Does he love my mother. Was this because of talk about marrying someone from Sacred Twenty-Eight? Probably. I can't remember how old I was, but I surely was going to Hogwarts, it was a winter break. Which one, though? 

No idea.

I can remember his face: serious like always (like a cold stone, it's pretty hard to forget), looking at me as if he was disappointed (was he? He was always acting like he is, but in the end, I'm not exactly sure; he claims he's sorry now), and this office of his when we were, dark and cold. I guess I was young back then, since I wasn't really tall. I was still a child. Probably second year in Hogwarts? Something like that, I believe.

"Now now, Draco, why would you ask me that?" Dear Lord, his voice is almost in my every nightmare, worse than Dark Lord's. Cold, haught, with so much aloofness...always thought he's running out of patience while answering my questions.

"I don't know, Father, I was just wondering--these are formal marriages, right? For purity of blood, that's what you said." Why did I ask him that? Was has happened on my second year? It's ...

Ah, yes. I see. It was Chamber of Secrets and the muggleborns were...well.

I see.

"Yes, they are formal marriages, Draco. Love is not important, but it can always happen. Your mother certainly loves both of us."

Hard not to see that: she screamed in protest when father offered sending me to Durmstrang. And she was almost crying when I was coming to my first year in Hogwarts: she quickly looked away, she remained silent and calm, but I saw it anyway.

"Yes, Father, I know she does."

"Then why are you asking me this, Draco?"

Because you're a monster. Because I don't believe you ever cared for anyone in your family, just about reputation, just about family name not dying with me, and I think I'm exactly like you, you filthy piece of...

"Draco!"

Sorry, father. I am. 

I blink quickly and I look around, back to the Blaise on my right. Hogwarts' courtyard and its green grounds are staying behind me, just like my father's face: it fades away like it always does, just like the fog upon trees of Forbidden Forest. 

"You were gone for a really long time."

"What are you talking about?" I wasn't gone, I'm never gone. 

"We were talking, you weren't listening," Theo explains, shrugging casually. He doesn't care, obviously. "Nothing new, I'd say, no reason to--what the hell?"

I look up. There's nothing interesting in Hufflepuffs standing in front of greenhouse's doors, chatting and laughing. There always are.

But, truth be told, I didn't remember so many of them. 

"Why are my eyes seeing Gryffindors in front of us?" Theo asks, his voice sharp as a knife. 

Ah, yes. I can see the colors of gold and red very clearly now. (Automatically searching for Granger's curls, can't help it; I can't see her anywhere). No idea what's going on.

"Did you two mistaken the lesson again?" I must ask: Blaise sometimes happens to not be really bright.

"We've done no such thing since third year, Draco, let it go," Blaise pretends to be disgusted by such suggestion, he honestly believes I'm going to fall for that. "Theo's right: what're they doing here, on Slytherin's beard? Did anybody invited them to the party?"

"Party? In greenhouse?" Theo shakes his head. "There's no mistake here, Malfoy, can't you see other Slytherins following us?"

"It could only means you're all wrong," I say, but I don't really believe that: Slytherins are mistaken very rarely. 

It seems like I've got no choice but being...well, myself, since I see Weasley's red shag and his face grimaced as he sees us. He goes in front of other students as we approach. "And what the hell are you doing here?"

"Could ask you just the same question, Weasley." We stop right there, Blaise crosses his arms on his chest. He's grinning, a bit amused, but I'm not. Don't really wish for confrontation (not that early in the morning, Lord have mercy), but if Weasley's asking for it...what choice do I have, then?

I believe none. (I've never had).

"Let go, Ron." Golden Boy stands right next to his friend, his hand on his arm, and he's looking at me as if I was plotting some vendetta on them by going to Herbology lesson (not that bid idea, actually). "What's going on, Malfoy?"

"Think I know? We've got Herbology now, which means you're supposed to be gone." Don't mean to be that rude, but I can't really help it. Be kind to Weasley? Never going to happen (got used to it by now). And where on Earth is Granger? These two without her are just lost losers. 

"We are the ones that are supposed to be gone?" Weasley is still grimacing.

Oh, I see. He's still not on good terms with Granger (damn, this girl really is stubborn; wonder if this is just one-time thing or are they having problems for a long time now) and he got pissed at me, as Potter kindly explained. He must hates me even more now (he really thinks Granger and I could be something? Or is he just possesive?). Would be a shame not to use that.

"Definitely we're not going to be, Weasley, we just got here," Blaise mocks.

"Hard to disagree, we've got a point," I add. "By the way, Weasel, how's your lovely girlfriend doing?"

It's the first time I called Granger lovely (hell, it's the first time I mentioned about her without insulting her; that can be dangerous), but it works exactly like I wanted it do. Weasley's face gets more red, it's almost crimson now; it perfectly fits to his red hair. "You lousy--"

"Ron, there's no need." Potter cuts him off immediately; Weasley listens like a little puppy he is (always suspected it looks that way, hard not to notice). "Sod off, Malfoy."

I roll my eyes. What children they are, really. "Relax now, Potter. So, which one of you is going to go for Professor?"

"Why don't you go?" Weasley glares at me.

I smirk. "Don't enjoy wasting my time, Weasel."

I'm really interested how this situation might've gone, but Potter saves the situation (like he always does; what a boredom, this man has nothing better to do than saving a day) by simple, "There's Professor Sprout!"

I turn around (not smart; Weasley is still my enemy, no matter what words were said in the Ministry) and then I see that old lady, upcoming along with Longbottom and Granger. She's ridiculously small while walking next to Longbottom (when he changed that much?) and she looks like a goddess of war, with her frowns and glares. She's not only smart, but observant: she knows something wrong is going on.

She also recognizes three classes standing next to each other and is even more confused. She's the first one coming up to us, leaving the teacher and Longbottom behind her. "What's going on here? Harry?" She ignores her boyfriend completely (she must be really, really mad). 

"It seems Slytherins have Herbology, too." Potter shrugs. 

"What?" Granger looks like me the way her boyfriend did: as if it was all my fault (many things are, can't argue, but sabotaging a boring lesson is definitely not one of them; does she really think that low of me?). "What's going on, Malfoy?"

(Why am I even wondering: of course she does think that low of me; not really a surprise, she's got her reasons). 

"How would I know, Granger?" I'm not devil incarnate, for God's sake. She thinks so, I know that, but I'm not. Her opinion is wrong (for the very first time; good for her she doesn't know that). "You really think lesson with Gryffindors is our biggest dream?" I'd prefer Ravenclaws, to be honest, or even damn Hufflepuffs. They hate us after the war, but I remember few funny memories with girls from Hufflepuff.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Granger raises her eyebrows. 

She is good. The war has changed her: she's fierce, sassy and really brave. (Hope my thoughts aren't able to be seen on my face, that would be embarrassing).

"Who would want a lesson with an imtiacy of a lion, now?" Theo asks. "With golden children of Hogwarts?"

"Now now, Nott, don't be rude," Blaise grins to him behind my back and I hear him chuckling (good to know he's in a good mood).

"What is it?" Longbottom comes to us finally, along with Professor Sprout. "What are they doing here?"

"We're standing right here, Longbottom," I point out calmly. "And we are not deaf like some weasles."

I hear chuckles behind my back. Granger, however, doesn't even smile. "This is childlish, Malfoy."

I shrug. I'm aware of that, but it's still funny, Granger.

"It seems we've got three classes today," Professor Sprout says calmly (really? That's all?). "I hope we can manage. Now, come on."

"Splendid," Nott mutters as we're marching behind the Gryffindors. Oh, they really think they're better than us.

(Some of them are, no doubt; and some of us are better. What's with the stereotypes again?).

We enter the greenhouse (it's stuffy like in the tin in here, why on Earth do we need those dense robes? This is practically scandalous) and it soon turns out that there's a huge crowd, which is no surprise. The Gryffindors are still whining in protest behind our back and the Hufflepuffs are probably planning to kill one of us with one of these disgusting plants (I'd like to see that very much, could be interesting).

I wonder what I'm doing here (not for the first time).

Lesson with the Golden Trio? Really. As if I didn't have enough of them on a daily basics, as if I didn't have to see them every day and endure this agony (others students are practically cheering as they sees them; horrible, but understable; I hate that), as if I didn't have enough of my eyes automatically looking for Granger.

On the other hand, she's still conflicted with her boyfriend. What an interesting lesson this may promise; it would be fun if they recreated the scene from the library with a larger audience. (I wonder if Granger believed me, does she really think I wasn't there?).

I really have to (finally) throw this dishevelled, know-it-all nerd off my goddamn head (she's not even dishevelled anymore, after the war it's impossible to insult her even in my mind). And take care of this little Pansy problem, because this one (despite her solemn promises) takes a seat and leaves room for one person. She waves to me, smiling coquettishly.

It's hard for me to admit, but it turns out I lost and Blaise was right: she never changed and she never will. I'm quite surprised I really thought it would be any different.

"And where they think they're going?"

I turn around: just to observe the Hufflepuffs' backs as they walk from the greenhouse to the grounds, which are still flooded with the sun; it's almost dusk, but they can still enjoy the last rays (envy them).

Unlike us. I'm sure that pretty soon we all will cook in here like chickens (maybe it'll make Weasley pass out, or one of those nasties will attack Pansy).

I don't wish bad for her, I really don't. We've gone through so much together and Nott wasn't that wrong, it's not her fault she's completely in love with me and can't control her feelings. But if she was just endurable, just so...

But she's not. Dear Lord, I wish she would sod off already, I really do. It's ridiculous I think about such things after the war, but it's the fact. Pansy is still pain in the ass I should take care of, now that I'm back in the Hogwarts and I'm planning to survive this year.

"I believe they can manage having lesson outside, Mr Nott, no need to worry," Professor Sprout says. I never paid much attention to her (even during the battle), but I'm guessing she's not that bad: she survived the war and never get me any detention (not even for swearing loudly). I look at her beaming face. "Please, take your seats!"

I turn to Blaise - but he's already with the girl from our House that I barely recognize. I look at Nott at the moment he looks at me; then we both look at Pansy, still smiling and glancing at me.

No way I'm going to work with her. No chance in hell.

I look around, I may be panicking a little bit (in agony, trapped in this big box along with Parkinson), but then---well, it looks I've got some fortune in fate left.

Granger, with her face haughty as always, grabs her bag and moves to free seat, all alone. I see Weasley's face, still red and full of anger, he's wincing and turning around not to look at her (he really is an idiot, it's not only pathetic but sad as well). Potter is standing right next to him, sad like a little puppy, glancing at Granger, but doesn't make a move. 

(Is that red moron really more important to him? Unbelievable.)

I turn to Theo, I pat his shoulder. "See? There's your chance, Nott," I say as I point at Pansy. "Go to her."

He looks at me, petrified. "No way I'm--"

"There is a way and you're doing it, because there's no chance in hell I'm going to her. You're staying with Parkinson." 

"You're going to torture Granger," he protests as I walk away from him.

Well, that's a bit of the point, I guess.

I take my seat right next to her (her rose perfume, so intense; much more intense than in library that night, I'm almost sinking into trance), I left my bag and then she looks at me, outraged and annoyed. "What do you think you're doing, Malfoy? Get out of here!"

"Can't, actually. All the seats are taken."

"That's not my problem, I don't want you here. Go away."

"Make me, Granger."

I turn to her, look at her, challenge in my voice: I look her in the eyes with this challenge, too. She wrinkles her nose (she always does is when she's angry, it's adorable), she glares at me (well, that's a bit scary, must admit), she's getting red on her cheeks and she's frowning, furious. But she know she can't really make me leave, so she just lets go. She shakes her head, breaks the eye contact (her brown eyes, now so big and full of rage; shame she looks away), she winces. 

"Make any move I won't like and I swear to Merlin I will hex you."

I really don't wish to be ferret again. I try to stop a smile (and I'm successful). "I believe you, Granger."

I'm not even listening when Sprout starts her talking. Instead, I do what I usually do during the lessons.

I'm staring at Granger.

I'm much closer to her than I ever was before and it's breathtaking. I can see her so close, I can see so many details: and I call tell she's damn gorgeous. Adorable, hot and beautiful, all at once (how did she manage to do that?).

I've met many girls, I kissed and snogged many girls, but Granger...oh, dear Lord. Her hair is tied up in some kind of bun, she has a few locks around her petite face again. She's got long, light eyelashes and a few freckles under her eyes. She frowns a little with her narrow, dark eyebrows, she bites her lip (how come her lips are so pink?), she squints her eyes. She blinks, I can see her eyelashes moving, I can almost hear it.

She's wearing this horrible uniform, and yet she looks good in it (it makes her the second person in this castle looking good in school robes; funny, we're perfect for each other then). She moves her hand, she lays it on the table, so close to me (I think this place is getting hotter every second now; never been that close to Granger), I can see silver brancelet on her wirst. Her skin is so light, it's the colour of--

"Malfoy!"

I look up. She's furious with me (again; nothing new), she's glaring at me. "What now, Granger? So desperate to catch my attention?"

She rolls her eyes (what on Earth am I doing?). "Did you listen to Professor Sprout at all?"

Not really, Granger. I was too busy looking at you.

I raise my eyebrows. "What for? I've got better things to do."

"Like watching Parkinson, for example?" She mocks. 

What the hell? "What?"

"Nevermind, Malfoy, I really don't wish to know a thing about you and her. Just--you're going to dig up plants and I'm going to take care of them. All right?"

I'd prefer not to do anything at all. Herbology, what a vile job is that. 

Don't really want to argue this time. Usually it's one of the most interesting and emotional things in my life (she hates me, but it's still emotion, she's not numb then; it's a miserable solace), but I really don't want to right now. Can't argue with her, can't fight with her. "All right."

She raises eyebrows at me. "Just so? No mocking and biting? What's going on, Malfoy?"

"You tell me, Granger," I say provocatively as I lean against the table and look at her.

I'm usually the only person that can upset her so much in short time, but it's not that. Granger never starts snapping at me until I do; not even this new, after-war Granger. It's something different, it's obvious.

I squint my eyes, I watch her as she looks away, starts wearing up gloves for protection. She's in really bad mood today, she wasn't with her friends and she's not even looking at Weasley. Did they have more arguments? And what about? Why is she upset so much?

My best shot is: it's all connected with Weasley (totally not worth is; what is she doing with him, for God's sake?). And I'm really, really curious.

(I'm closer than I ever was, not only physically; how could I ignore that?).

"So," I start digging up this hideousness, "how's it going between you and Weasley?"

I don't look up when she turns to look at me; I just glance at her for a brief second with the corner of my eye, just to see surprise on her face. 

She keeps it, so I raise my eyebrows and look at her.

She snorts. "Yes, I'm definitely going to talk to you about my relationship, Malfoy. Sod off and shut up."

"You're extremely radiant and kind today, Granger, hard to miss that." She glares at me, I smirk wryly. "Truce, remember? I'm honoring it. I'm being kind."

"You're not being kind, you're being interfering. I'm sure you're all happy inside because something's not working between me and my boyfriend."

Hell yes I am, Granger. Perhaps you'll finally see what a loser he is and you'll leave him for someone better (I know no one truly deserves her, but still). 

Can't tell her that, obviously. I sigh. "What a suspicious person you are, Granger. Actually, no. I'm just curious: you know, you three are the Golden Trio, you're always perfect, with pink colour and rainbows and et cetera."

We both know I'm lying. There was at least two times when she wasn't speaking with her friends; Weasley, at least. One was on sixth year, I remember (she was dating this McLaggen idiot back then), and the second was one...oh, can't even remember.

She snorts again. "Yeah, right. Keep digging the plants, Malfoy." 

I'm silent, but just for a little while. I really can't help myself today, because I don't even know why I'm saying, "Well, you seem kind of upset and Potter over there looks like a lost, beaten-up dog. Also whole Hogwarts knows about your arguments with Weasley, so I was just curious for how long are you going to torture yourself."

"Splendid choice of words, Malfoy." Her voice is colder than ice.

I shut my eyes for a second. Please, don't, Granger. Don't bring it up.

I don't want to remember you on my floor, your blood all around. I don't want to remember your screams full of pain. I don't want to see your full of tears and terror eyes in my nightmares again.

I open my eyes, I glance at her. "Told you, Granger. Congratulations you're still with him."

"He's twice man than you'll ever be."

The other way around, I think. Weasley may be a golden hero, but I'll never be as pathetic as he is.

I'm smart enough to know these are not words Granger wants to hear right now. I sigh. "I'm not looking at Parkinson. I never would. I'm thinking about the ways to get rid of her and it's relief I'm not standing next to her, really. She wouldn't shut up for a second."

"Like you now?" She looks at me, still suspicious, but now also puzzled. "Why did you tell me that?"

"So you would open up about Weasley," I say, smirking slyly again (after all, I am a snake). "You owe me now, Granger."

She rolls her eyes at me once more. "I should know you--"

"Come now, Granger," I roll my eyes. "I'm not asking about your sex life, if there is any. Just want to know what Weasley's done this time."

She squints her eyes. "You really enjoy laughing at him, don't you?"

(Yes, I do. I always did. But I'm asking to see what kind of punishment he deserves; what he's done to you this time.)

I lean against the table, I turn to her face to face; I'm done with these plants. "Yes I do, Granger. It's a delight in my life."

(There's no delight in my life).

"The only one, I guess," she snorts (she really became sassy one; hard not to admire that, I'm trying my best). "What do you want to hear? That we broke up and we're both really sad and heartbroken?"

That's the last thing I'd like to hear (I'd like to hear they broke up, though). 

I shrug, "Basically."

She rolls her (beautfiul) eyes again. "Sorry to disappoint, Malfoy. We're still together."

"What a shame. And why are you so mad, exactly?"

"Why should I tell?"

"Come on, Granger. I'm not going to embarrass you in front of the entire school." I shrug again. "It's not fun anymore."

She looks at me...so carefully I have this urgent whim to run away. She's watching me almost as closely as I'm watching her almost every day for seven year (sound like I'm a bloody psychopath; Blaise keeps telling me that).

Finally, she sighs. "Fine. But you're shutting up after I tell you. Can't stand your voice."

"Cut it, Granger, I know you love to hear my accent." My Wiltshire accent, I might add. I think everyone loves it; perhaps Granger does, too (I'll never find out, it doesn't matter). "So?"

She sighs again, this time way more heavily. She looks at her hands, still in gloves. "He's been lying to me. Telling one thing and not being with the people he tells me he is; not in the places he says he would be. Says he can't tell me why, not now at least, and he's getting angry with me when I keep bringing the subject. He's--" she stops.

I'm surprised. I didn't expect that much of words (not that I mind).

Should I be surprised, though? I look at her closely, I really do, and then I can see it: the pain in her eyes as she clears her throat and goes back to the plants.

She must be really lonely now. She can't talk to anyone about it: her best friend is Weasley's best friend, too (Potter) and the other one is Weasley's beloved sister (Ginny Weasley), it's obvious she can't talk about subject like that. She's...trapped.

And alone.

Well, I know the feeling, Granger. 

I don't have words for that kind of confession - and even if I did, I wouldn't have said it; she wouldn't believe it anyway. And she surely wouldn't want to hear it from me. It's a miracle she didn't hex me yet, I'm still puzzled. 

I keep my promise, I'm silent for the rest of the work, and so we finish before the others do. Granger leaves her gloves, she looks around, nods her head...then looks at me finally. "Looks like you can get a job done after all, Malfoy."

"Looks like you're not just a boring nerd," I say. "You're still really mean, though. And your hair is a distaster."

She huffs, wrinkling her little nose. "It's a miracle I survived a lesson with you."

Yes, I think so, too.

"I'm being honest with you, Granger, that's what allies do--"

"You really don't know a thing about alliances, do you now, my friend?"

I turn to Blaise. I've got no idea how he manage to find himself so close to me without me noticing it, but there he is, standing and grinning.

I'm not really happy to see him this time. "Didn't ask for you opinion, Zabini. Where's your gorgeous partner?"

I can see Granger roll her eyes (it's strange; is this really irritating to her? Why? Whole Hogwarts knows about my lifestyle, even her, it's nothing new for her). Blaise grins, showing us an even broaded smile. "Said Mulattos aren't really her type."

"What a shame," I shrug carelessly, because I really couldn't care less. If Blaise want to get laid tonight, he will. He's stubborn and can be quite charismatic, I guess. Poor girl doesn't stand a chance. It's not my concern at all.

"I'm not giving up, though." He looks at Granger, he smile more warm to her. "Hello there, Hermione. You look great in this bun."

She looks at him in deep shock, her eyes wide open. She's pretty sure he's joking (or mocking her). "W--what now?"

"Don't get fooled, Blaise flirts with everyone who can talk and move," I tell her. "It'd be appropiate to thank for the compliment, though."

"Sod off, Malfoy." She barks at me, still looking at Blaise. "I--I mean--well--"

"It was honest," he assures her. "I'm Blaise Zabini, by the way. We've never talked to each other, have we?"

"She didn't lose a thing," I say. "Better go back to your partner, Blaise. I'm afraid she might want to escape."

"No no, she's not going to." He doesn't stop grinning; why is he so joyful? What is he plotting this time? 

"Well, in that case, thank you for the compliment." Granger hesitates, scanning him with her eyes...then reaches out her hand. "We've never properly meet, as you said. Hermione Granger."

He takes her hand (gently), he shakes it. "My pleasure. Not Slytherins are like this fawn ferret over here."

Granger looks at me...and chuckles. I can see smile on her face and I can hear her lovely chuckle before she stops; little smile is still dancing on her lips, though. She's standing so close to me, she's smiling.

Blaise made her laugh.

I look at him cooly, I put hands in my pocket, trying not to hex him. Being a ferret is one of my most appalling memories and it's not a joke. It was traumtic. "Not funny at all, Zabini. Would be mind being somewhere else?"

"I'm in no hurry," he laughs.

"Nott was looking for you." Now my voice is cold, too.

(Don't care. I really don't want him around right now.)

He winks at me. "As you wish, Your Majesty. Oh, Hermione, I've bumped into your friend the other day, lovely Ginny Weasley."

"Oh, yes, she might've mentioned," she nods. She's curious, she's looking at him with interest of what he'll say next.

She doesn't wait long. "Well, we've got Quidditch practice in Saturday, it'd be marvellous if you two would show up. I talked to Captain, it's all good." He looks at me. "Enough to piss Pansy off."

Not only Pansy, I'm sure. I nod briefly. "Good to know."

"See you around, Hermione." He nods her kindly and walks away.

What on Earth has gotten into him? I'm sure as hell Nott's watching us right now, asking himself the same question. We both can't wait to hear the answer.

As much as I'd like to see Granger during my Quidditch practice (and seeing angry Slytherin girls) I can't imagine her there. Although...maybe she'd be able to defend herself now? She's not scared little nerd anymore.

(Was she ever, though? I remember her breaking my nose on third year).

I turn to her. "Don't be amazed, Granger, it's just Blaise."

"He's not at all like you."

"I know. I've got better style, accent and I'm much better looking."

"On the opposite, I'd say." She looks up; nervous. Why? "Well, I guess it's the end of lesson now, so--"

"Will you be there?"

She turns to me, she doesn't understand. "Sorry?"

"Will you be on the practice? Don't know why, but Blaise wants Weasley to come. And she won't without you."

"Well, I've got better things to do," she says loftily.

Obviously. "Books, is that it? Know-It-All Granger," I mock; I just have to, she can't know...well, she can't even suspect a thing. I have to play my role, it's just kind of my duty (I decided to it on a second year, I can't go back). 

(But I want to...I'd really like to...Why do I keep talking?)

"What a shame, though. It'd literally drive Parkinson mad from anger." (I want to see her on my practice so badly it's embarrassing).

She rolls her eyes, shakes her head. But I can see it, the amusement flashing in her eyes like golden fireworks. "You can't really try to drive her mad, you know, she's--"

"Granger, defender of the nations. Save it, really." Pansy wouldn't appreciate it anyway, I'm sure. 

"Well." She grabs her bag, cold and distant again; can't believe she was chuckling just a minute ago. "It's nice I didn't kill you, Malfoy, maybe you'll be some kind of person after all. Now, if you excuse me--"

No, I won't; not now, when Potter and Weasley are grabbing their bags, looking at her. Weasley is dying to talk to her, I can see that (why is he lying to her? What's he hiding?).

I always do horrible things. I don't waste my time on wondering if I should do one more. I'm damned for the eternity anyway (it doesn't matter, it really doesn't, it's amazing).

"Granger, as for the Weasley--"

"Hm?" she frowns. "No, Malfoy, don't start this--"

I take just the two steps to make the distance (physical one) between us disappear; and it takes me one second to lean to her, to find my mouth just next to her ear (I could easily kiss her skin; her perfume is irresistible). "If he's getting angry with you anyway, you should at least give him reasons to be."

I move away quickly and I pass her by as fast as I can, raising my chin. Nott and Zabini, those two morons are not waiting for me; they didn't see that.

I look over my shoulder as I walk from the greenhouse. Granger is still in her place, she's quickly moving hair from her face, grabbing her bag...

Weasley looks like he's about to explode any minute now.

I walk away. The students are around me, laughing and chattering, I've still got Granger's perfume in my nose and her laugh in my head. And her blushes when I leaned over her in front of my eyes.

Nobody can see me now, so I smile. Perhaps I am the devil incarnate after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter #5.  
> Whan can I say? The story is slow, I'm aware, and I'm quite happy I finally wrote real conversation between Draco and Hermione.  
> Enjoy.


	6. See it break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not real anymore.

"Great, great! It's excellent, it really is, but Pritchard, you have to—"

"Are those girls Gryffindors?!"

It's one of younger students: fourth year, probably. He's practically drooling and he's looking like them as if saw people in Gryffindor robes for the very first time. (Why on Earth is he on the team again?)

I turn around and I must shamefully admit: I almost fall of my broom as I see those two. It's impossible to mistake them: I can see Weasley's red hair and Granger's curls, her slim figure and—

"You're drooling way more than that kid is," Blaise murmurs as he passes me by. I glare at him (I'd like to be able to cast a spell or hex someone without using a wand, really). "Yes, they definitely are Gryffindors. Can't you see red-golden scarves?"

"What are they doing here?" Pritchard frowns, he's looking at them like he's planning something really bad.

(To be fair, most Slytherins look at someone that way when they're wondering about something).

"It's all right, I gave my permission. Relax now, boys." Harper just glances at the team over the shoulder, than looks at me. "Draco, Blaise, if you need—"

"A break? That would be great, Captain, you're the best human being on this planet." Blaise grins as he flies toward the seats, quicker than the wind.

I sigh. Obviously, I can't just stay there in the air. "He was just joking," I say to Harper as I follow my friend.

"Of course he wasn't!" Harper shouts after me, I can hear laugh in his voice.

That's good. He's not as bad in being captain as I thought he would be. We might even have some chances, I'm slowly starting to respect that kid.

I reach the place when Slytherin girls are just over their edge. Not surprised at all when I see Pansy and Daphne, glaring at Granger and Weasley; there's hatred in their eyes (Pansy looks like a doll again, with all this makeup; what for?). 

"I will not stand a presence of—"

"Draco!" Daphne is the first one to notice me, she breaks Pansy's statement off and thank the Lord for that. I know exactly what she wanted to say. "Great you're here. Those two slovens just came here like it's their right! You'll surely explain to them why they should be gone—right. Now." Saying this, she gives them a hateful look. 

Have to say I'm impressed when Weasley responds to that: she shows her a vulgar gesture that makes Blaise laugh out loud so hard he must hold onto his broom.

I raise my eyebrows. "Well, from what I know, Granger and Weasley were invited. You, however, were not. You just appear there whether our team likes it or not, so I'd say those two Gryffindors have better right to be here than you."

"Also: not slovens," Blaise says, still chuckling like a little brat. "Have you seen yourself this morning, Daphne? Your face has very strange colour today."

"You don't insult a lady, Blaise," Tracey Davies stands arm to arm to Daphne, her lips bend in red smile that's supposed to be seductive (I'm sure Blaise doesn't find it that way).

"That's right," Blaise agrees, "but I don't see any at the moment."

She gasps like a fish and I hear a beautiful, girlish chuckle behind my back; I have to fight myself to not turn back and look at Granger.

"Draco, honey, come now," Pansy interferes. "You can't seriously choose mudblood and blood traitor over girls from your own House."

Blaise reacts immediately, quicker than he ever did, and I'm so grateful he does: if he didn't, I would be the one making treats and insults and I think I already said enough.

He flies over to Pansy, he stops so abruptly and closely it makes Pansy shout.

"Listen to me, Pansy. I don't really like you, I never did, but you're not as bad as this crew of yours, so I'll say it kindly now: shut your mouth right now, because if I hear you insulting those girls one more time I swear I'm going to take you and kick you straight to the late. And I don't think that anybody here will care about this." He smiles a little bit; it's the sharpest and coldest smile I've ever seen on his face. "Even Draco honey, I believe."

"Save it, Blaise," I say, bored with this conversation already, and Blaise laughs lightly.

"Don't like the nickname?"

"Never did." 

"But, Draco!" Pansy's voice is almost sobbing (dammit, woman).

"That's scandalous!" Daphne shakes her head. "It's—"

"Let it go, Pansy. Blaise make himself clear and so did I." I shrug. I knew very well this drama show would be impossible to miss if Gryffindors show up here, but it's taking way too much time now.

"Why would you even want them here?" Daphne is still protesting.

I give her one of my coldest glances (I just can't stop myself, she needs to shut up finally). She sees it, she hesitates...then she looks down, she takes a step closer to Tracey. She backs down.

"That's none of your concern, is it?" Blaise grins, happy and childlish all again, and then turns to Gryffindors. "Sorry about those histerics. Great you showed up, we're all honored. If I may: I suggest change of seats, it might be a little loud up here."

"We think so too," Weasley says calmly. "Also: way too much stupidity in the air."

She walks to the lower seats, Granger right to her arm; they don't walk quickly, I can see a broad smile on her face, I can see in her eyes that she wants to laugh so badly.

"Blaise, come on, you can't just—" Tracey tries once more.

"Don't really have time for you, Davies." He turns to me, I nod. "We better get going."

Nobody from team says a thing as me and Blaise approach. Harper just nods, little smile under his breath, and we're continuing the practice like nothing ever happened (wonder how much they heard). The only person to say anything other than 'Ow, you bastard, it's not real game!' is Pritchard with his, "Praise the Lord, they're leaving!"

I look up immediately and I sigh with relief, because they're Slytherins who are leaving (what a reaction: shame on me). All five (Bulstrode and Monkleigh didn't say a thing) leave, clearly resentful. Weasley and Granger exchange with each others broad, happy smiles (it's beautiful).

"Perhaps you should invite Gryffindors more often," Harper grins to Blaise. "Let's get back to work!"

It's way better with this silence, without giggling and chattering in the air. In fact, perhaps Gryffindors really should be here more often. Blaise is showing off like he'd never done before and I think I may be a little more tense than usual, but it's...good. It's easier to focus, to think, to play better (I know Granger's watching me).

We touch down the ground eventually, but Blaise's not over: he flies over to Granger and Weasley immediately. I fight with myself for a while before I follow him; he's in the middle conversation with Weasley when I got there, it looks like a fierce one.

"Worse than ours, honestly—"

"It wasn't that bad," Granger puts her hand on Weasley's arm. It's not that cold, it's just a little wind, and yet she's got gloves. "Your team is quite talented, I must admit," she says to Blaise, "just your personalities are the worst ones in whole castle."

"Judgmental Gryffindors," Blaise laughs. "There's nothing we can do about those—well—"

"Hussy would be a perfect word, I think." Weasley suggets.

"Ginny!" Granger scolds her, then looks at Blaise again (why so much warmness in her eyes?). "But, it really would be."

"We've heard worse insults on them," I add, flying closer. "Each one just as true."

Granger looks at me, her face becomes cold in one second, but she nods anyways and greets me, "Malfoy."

"Hello there, Granger. And Weasley."

"Good to see you too," Red's voice is full of irony. "You've got no chances with us, I hope you two do realize that."

"We'll see about that, Squirrel," Blaise smiles to her. "Anyway, we might be not so talented in your eyes, but I saw that drool during the practice."

"Oh, yeah, this Pritchard is kind of cute." Weasley smiles innocently. "Just joking, Zabini. There's no way I'd look at any of you snakes differently than with despise."

Just this one sentence and the whole atmosphere changes in one second. Blaise frozes, his smile disappears; I haven't seen him surprised so much in a really long time now. Weasley is still smiling like a innocent child, but her gaze is dark and hard as stone. She could easily kill him right now, I'm sure of that.

"Gin." Granger puts hand on her friend's arm again, she's surprised herself. She looks at Blaise, she bits her lip. "You know, it was a long day, we—better get going."

"Of course."

I watch them stand up, I watch them leave. I want to comment it (I have to; it seems this Weasley is a real bitch after all), but Blaise just gives me one look: don't.

And I don't.

"Malfoy," I hear Granger's cold farewall as she passes me by.

And then they walk away.

I can't look at her; don't know why, I just don't enjoy watching her back, watching her walk away. I look at Blaise instead, because apparently he can't hold himself. "Never invite them again," I say sharply. "If you do, I'll tell Harper not to let them in. Or I will let Slytherins insult them."

I would never do the second one and Blaise knows that, but the first one? Easily. I'm not going to watch my friend being ditched by some shrew.

He looks at me. "What? Draco, she's—"

"Don't you have enough girls around you?" I'd like to add: like, more normal girls, who are not dating someone, who are nothing like this vixen, but I don't. "Let this one go."

I fly to the ground, I'm going to change. I'm letting Blaise let this one go alone.

 

Her blood is all over. It's dark.

It's not just red, it's scarlet, and it's glistening in the pure light just like this knife. 

It's dirty. Oh my God, it's dirty, it's jagged and...

Oh Lord.

This blood is all over the floor, it's everywhere, there's no place it didn't reach. I can smell it: this heavy, tinny smell, it's all around the room, in the air. I'm breathing it in and out, and...

No. No, I can't breathe.

Why am just standing like a bloody moron? It's so dark in here, I can only see this blood and this slim figure, she's stretched on the floor like a doll. She's so skinny, so tiny, I think she may die any moment now.

Please, please, please, no. 

I can't see her face yet, but I know it's pale. It's white as piece of paper, her eyes are big, full of pain and misery and fear. She just wants it to end, she just can't...

She screams. She's screaming screaming screaming and she won't ever stop.

It's my mother's voice.

"Draco!"

I'm here. 

I'm here and not there, I'm here in my bed, I'm here in my dormitory, I'm here in Hogwarts, in dungeons, in Slytherin.

I'm here I'm here I'm here.

I'm breathing.

It's dark, it's so dark, but it's also very quiet. No one is screaming and no one is bleeding; I look around me, I may be in a little panic attack, but there's no blood. I can't smell it and I can't see it, that means it's not here.

It's not real anymore.

"Draco."

I look up. Blaise is in his own bed, curtains around his bed exposed, and he's looking at me. His face is so light in this darkness of night, he's watching me: I see his eyes moving. "All right?"

I nod. I inhale and I exhale the air, I breathe, I'm here.

I rub my face with my hands. They're cold as hell, but it's good, it's all good. I'm awake and I'm aware. I know what's going on, I know what happened. "Yeah, all right." I say. My voice is rasping like a stone against stone, I must have been screaming (shit). "Did I scream?"

"No, no at all."

"Blaise."

I'm still not looking at him, but I can hear him very clearly, the silence around us is overwhelming. 

I hear his sigh. "Thanks to Slytherin we're thinking sometimes and we've got spell on our dorm, because otherwise the entire Hogwarts would hear you. You were screaming as if you were being murdered."

(Not me. It's never me.)

"Wonderful. What did I scream?"

"No words. Just—screaming in pain."

I nod. The usual, then. It's not that bad. If I was screaming something...well.

Blaise never asks about my nightmares and I never ask about his. We know it's always about war, the things we experienced, the people we love. But we never talk about it. None of us two ever wants to, so we don't. We're just...there, waking each other up whenever it happens.

Just like right now.

"You want to—"

"Go back to sleep." I know I won't, but I'm not going to take him the pleasure. "I'll be fine. I am fine."

"Sure. It's 4 a.m., no point in going back to sleep."

"Still three more hours to use. Don't be a fool, Blaise." I lay back on my bed again, it's so pleasantly cold. I'm staring at the canopy, I'm trying to think about anything but my mother's screams...

I still hear his breathing, not really regular. "You're really not going back to sleep?"

"Nope."

I sigh. What a moron. "You don't have so much nightmares these days, do you?" I ask. "I didn't have to wake you up since August." It's been five weeks, it's really long time. 

"Of course I have. I just don't scream. It's—silent. I just wake up." 

Oh. Oh, my.

I turn my head, I look at him. He's laying on his bed, playing with his wand, he's moving objects in the air, but he keeps them on his side of the room (strange; he loves annoying and bothering me). I want to say I'm sorry, but I don't. He wouldn't like to hear it. I'm silent, I'm waiting, listening. 

"I've been dreaming about Weasley today," he says. "I was so guilty, you know? And she thinks I'm just a Death Eater. A murderer."

"You had no choice," I say.

What a bitch. Why is Granger even friends with her? (Seems like no matter what the subject is, my thoughts always come back to Granger. It's the worst of all tortures).

"She doesn't believe that."

(Neither does Granger). "What about it? Why would you care? She's just some Gryffindor, Blaise, leave it."

"I can't. She lost her brother, I—I can't. She cannot think that, Draco."

I sigh. "There are plenty of people who thinks that way about you and won't ever change their mind. You're going to try to convince every one of them?"

"Of course not. It's just—I'd like her not to—" He sighs. "She's always been around, you know? And I've always insulted her, whether she heard it or not. And now she lost her brother because of man like me."

I straight up immediately, I turn to him, I'm angry like a snowstorm. "You are nothing like Rockwood, do you understand me?"

He laughs, this sound is way sadder than any cry I've heard (excluding Granger's). "You just keep saying that because that doesn't make neither me nor you as bad as other Death Eaters."

I froze.

He turns to me suddenly, just as soon as he realizes what he said. He's freaked out. "I'm sorry, Draco, I didn't mean—you're not like—you were trying to protect your parents, you had to. It's different. I'm sorry."

(It's not different with me. I keep saying I had no choice, but it's not different).

"You were trying to protect your mother."

"She had other men who wanted to protect her." His voice is deaf.

"You were trying to protect me."

He snorts, lays down on his bed. "I'm going to remind you how kind you were trying to be to me, you know? Try to sleep, Draco. It's still three more hours to go."

I look at my alarm clock. "Two and a half."

I can see his smile. I turn around, close my eyes. And when I open them again, I'm drunk.

I'm drunk. I am so drunk and it is so great.

I don't really enjoy getting drunk. First time was at the end of my fifth year, then—well, can't really know. Holiday is all blurred and dark, I was stressed out like hell, I was almost panicking and nobody knew why. And then, to hide it, I was acting like some kind of goddamn high lord, I told Blaise and Pansy I was chosen.

Yes, I was. I was chosen to die and I acted like I was happy about my mission.

My bloody mission. My parents couldn't even protect their own child, the only child they were supposed to protect (seriously, father?).

I know the frontier between being little screwed, have my mood better and between being completely drunk, so much I feel dizzy and I want to laugh. I also quickly learned it's all right for me and I have to drink really much drinks to be drunk.

Now I am and I can't really remember how much did I drink. How many bottles? Two on two fellas, me and Zabini? No, no no no, it was definitely more. Closer to four, I think. Maybe five? I definitely remember we drank five bottles of Firewhisky one time, when we were much younger. I had different hair and Zabini just got taller than me, I was so upset, dear Lord. 

Maybe we drank six bottles.

Zabini is giggling like a little child and the world keeps spinning along with him. How much did I drink? I don't remember being so wasted for really long time. I remember being really drunk when I got drunk for the first time, this may be the second time I've got so much alcohol in me.

Funny. It's funny, isn't it? I'm two years older than back then and not smarter at all.

Neither is Zabini. He's giggling like a little girl, he reminds me of a little girl so much. Perhaps he was supposed to be born a girl in the first place.

I tell him that. My tongue doesn't want to listen to me, but I try to tell him that (I'm stubborn man). It seems he understands me.

"I waaaas," why is he talking this way? "That's why—my goodda—my mother hates me."

"She doesn't," I protest. "What you were trying to say?"

"Wha-wha-what?"

I almost laugh. He might be even more drunk than I am. He's drunker. He's completely awash.

(There's no word like 'drunker', is there? I need to ask Nott).

"Goddamn," it came out wrong, it sounds like I said...something different. "Goddamn, that's what you wanted to say."

"You really dye your hair, don't ya?" He chuckles. "You can tell, there's noooobody else."

He's drunk. He is so drunk. So am I, I'm trying to stand. Why did we got drunk at all?

Oh, right. I had a nightmare. He's depressed after Weasley bitch. Well, better think 'shrew', Blaise gets mad whenever I call her a bitch; and, to be fair, he has every right to be, 'bitch' is very nasty word and I believe Weasley is not, after all. Her brother is a complete disaster, but not her, I suppose.

It's Friday. It must be Friday if we got drunk. I had nightmare, he was sad, and we're...well. 

My heart hurts, so I sit back down. Blaise is looking around.

"You going to vomit?" I ask him. I should be gone if he does, I don't want to hear that (maybe I'm slowly getting sober?). 

"No—no no no. But I lost something." 

What? 

The door opens.

"Told you." Pansy sounds judgmental like hell (rude). She points her finger at me (is she trying to piss me off right now?), but it's Blaise who's happy to see her and the man with her.

"Theo! I lost my Theo!" He waves to him, he's grinning (so happy). Maybe he really is a little girl, but we just don't see it if we're sober.

Oh, Lord, my head. I'm so drunk, right? Damn. 

I don't remember when I had time to got drunk so bad. And how come Pansy knows? She wasn't drunking with us. How does she know? And how on Earth did she happen to be here? We never let her it. How did she come?

And Nott. Nott can visit our dormitory, of course, but how come is he here? I'm pretty sure it's a night. Or maybe I'm wrong and it's middle of the day (that would be hilarious).

"Hello there, Nott!" Blaise keeps waving to him. "I missed you so much! We didn't you come earlier? Draco missed you, too!"

"Doubt that." Nott crosses his arm, his as tall and big as a mountain (how come?). "You two are completely awash. How many bottles did you have?"

"Nott," I remember something now. I frown. "There's no word like 'drunker', is there?"

Pansy hides her face in her hands (what the hell?). Theo sighs. "No, Draco. There is not. Now tell me: how many bottles?" 

He squats, he's right in front of me; his face is so close it makes me uncomfortable, I move away; my head hits the bed frame, Blaise laughs loudly. 

"Personal space, Nott." I growl. Ow, my head. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Dam, it hurts so freaking much.

I must get sober, it's not fun anymore. Blaise is still little girl, but I don't like Theo as a mountain right now. I want things to be normal again, I'm dizzy, I'm drunk. I want my bed. 

I'm child just as much as Blaise is, am I not?

Theo sighs with relief. "You're not that drunk. Oh, praise the Slytherin. Draco, focus. How many bottles?"

"Enough to be fun," I say; my tounge still doesn't want to move. "Many—many bottles—how come Pansy is here?"

"You wanted to ask 'why'?" Pansy asks. "Nott, they're really drunk."

"I can see that, Parkinson. Would you leave us?"

"Leave Draco in such state? No way!"

"For God's sake, leave and get Astoria to come here."

"It's middle of the night, Nott," she snorts (what's going on? I can't really follow).

"That's kind of the point, she's going to kill Draco in the morning. Now bring her here—please."

Theo is drunk, too. He's so drunk, he never says please.

"You're drunk, too?"

"You are." The door shuts. Ow. Bloody Pansy. "Draco, answer me this."

"If you'll drink, too." I want him to be just as much drunk as we are, we won't be the only idiots. I know Nott thinks we are, but I'm not. I'm not. I'm really smart.

Not as smart as Hermione, though. She's the smartest of everyone. It's amazing. So amazing. I wish she was here right now (always wish she was here). 

"I will," he promises me. "Just answer me one question."

"Of course." I love questions.

No, no, I hate them. I forgot. Ow, my head.

"Are you going to throw up?"

I really need to focus.

I'm dizzy, I'm drunk, I'm sick. But my stomach is empty, there's only alcohol in it, and I don't want...

I can't move my head, so I just say, "Nooo. No no, not going to. But I want water."

"Great. How about Blaise?"

Water is great, I agree. "He's—yes, yes he is. He's the weaker one."

"You're ruuude!" Blaise shouts. "Why do I love you so much?"

"Why did you even get drunk?" Nott helps me to stand; it only makes me feel more dizzy, I want to be back on the ground, when it's safer. "No, no, you're not going to sit down. Draco, there's a bathroom. Go on."

My mind is working. "Not going to throw up, Theo."

"You must be really drunk if you're calling me by my name, you know? Oh, Astoria! Thank God."

I try to turn around; Theo doesn't let me (betrayal!). He's leading me to the bathroom, he lets me to lean on the sink. He's talking to someone (how these people are showing up in our dorm? What kind of magic is this?).

"This one is not so tragic, we just have to put him to bed. Oh, cold water will be great. I'll take care of Zabini, he's—well. You don't want to experience that."

"It's not the first time I'm taking care of drunk Draco."

Yes. Yes! I remember. The first time I got drunk was at the end of my fifth year, not during the holiday, it was because of my father, also Slytherins were celebrating something. It was the first time I noticed Astoria, I was—where I was back then? 

But I was drunk, so drunk...

Astoria. Yes, we've talked for the very first time then. Seems like being drunk has its perks. Astoria. It'd like to see her right now very much.

And there she is, holding me, leading me to the shower (what for? Is it moring already?). "Ria," I say. "How splendind to see you."

What a perfect hallucination, I practically feel her hands, leading me. Maybe I can make this hallucination into Granger. That would be the best. (Why do I constantly think of Granger?)

"Wish I could say the same, Draco. What's gotten into you?"

Granger. It's always Granger. She's the answer to every question I've been asked about.

But Astoria know that, doesn't she? She was the first person I—

I...what did I do? I can't remember, I can't...

"You know, don't answer that. You're going to explain yourself in the morning, after Theo and I give you hell of the time."

She opens the door to the cabin, she pushes me in. She wants to get into shower with me? That's not good idea, she's Astoria, she's my innocent hallucination. I can't disgrace her.

She's the first person I told about Granger. Well, the only one, actually. 

"What the—"

That water is pure ice!

It all over me, it's raining and it's pouring, it's on my whole body, it almost hurts. It's cold, it's so cold, I'm freezing to my bones. 

Is the turtoruing me?

No, she's not. She's standing there, on the floor, and it seems like she's smiling. She's not blurred out anymore. "That's what getting sober looks like, Draco. You'll be fine, don't act like a little girl."

Little girl. Blaise is one.

I'm freezing.

I'm sober.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! God, you literally have no idea how happy it makes me feels, when I see those Kudos. Really!   
> Chapter #6 is chaotic one, I can't say otherwise. I was thinking for a really long time if I should add it at all (considering if I shouldn't just delete it), but I think it's important for the whole story. Doesn't bring much, but makes a few things clearer, I think.  
> Hope you'll enjoy it ^^


	7. Something's gone terribly wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fire made flesh.

I really am on the lost position in my life if I have to hide in the school library. I had no other choice, really (Lord, isn't that my favorite phrase?), Astoria and Theo just wouldn't leave me and Blaise alone. I'm sure it's not at all as they're putting it and (at least) half of the words wasn't told by Blaise nor me (as they're trying to make us believe). But still, their mocking are irritating. Can't stand their voices, full of psychotic amusement. 

Alright, not really honorable of me they needed to take care of drunk version of Draco Malfoy; and not really great I made them take care of Blaise as well, since he was crying, confessing love to everybody around and constantly running away. But we needed this. Despite drinking a potion I feel like a wreck and I'm barely living today, but it's...better, somehow.

Night without nightmares. Not really great way to achieve that, but what matters is: it worked. And if I have to endure Theo's mocking and Astoria's parodies of me, and her reproaches...well. It's not the first time anyway.

Wonder when Blaise is at the moment. He's in even worse state than I actually am and I'm sure he's been planning an escape since this (very painful) morning. I'm curious if he managed.

Great he doesn't want to talk about last night. He probably doesn't remember a thing and he's embarrassed, but I'd really like to know what exactly happened. I remember being in our dorm, Theo and Astoria taking care of us...oh, Pansy was there for a while, too. I spend the whole day trying to remind myself how my night looked like, but it's one hard task.

I remember cold shower, obviously. I remember some of Blaise's confessions, but these are usual ones: he's always this hearty when he's drunk. 

My head hurts even why I try to remember, it's so...

I can hear the humming.

It's the library, kingdom of nerds and silence. Why is there a person who can't respect that? The potion didn't change the fact I'm still very sensitive to all sounds: if someone will scream I may even die. Not in the moon for humming, that's for sure.

I approache, but when I'm there the humming stops, as the person finds an article in one of her books and stops right there, falling silent in one second.

Granger. Obviously. My mind is little sleepy today, in letarg; I didn't recognize her sweet voice at first.

Just like during that night when I saw her here, expect it's day now: it's light and I can see her clearer than then. She's reading the paragraph, she's frowning. She's not in her robes, just unfirom: white shirt, golden-red tie, gree waitscoat. Her hair is free today, locks are on her back, her shoulders, surrounding her face. She's alone (I've never seen Weasley or Potter in the library with her), she frowns. Something's not right for her. She slowly closes the book, puts it in her bag (she's got everything in there, I wonder how much heavy that thing is), then reaches for another one.

Oh, bloody hell. Granger. 

I remember her face from last night. She wasn't there, obviously, but I wished she was. And there was Astoria, the first and only person I—oh, Dear Lord. 

(Why is Granger always in my head?)

She frowns, she can't reach the highest shelf. She tries again, she's standing on the tip of feet, and yet - it's not enough. But she's not going to ask for help: not Granger. She's going to do it on her own. I'm sure the word 'defeat' never even appeared in that brilliant mind of hers.

And just like then, I hesitate. I could easily walk to her, mock a little, give her a book, walk away. She'd be so shocked, with no idea what's going on. She's probably confused right now anyway, after our Herbology lesson (I hope she is). 

But do I really want to? Walk over, mock her? Am I really in the mood? Do I want her 'death glare' on me?

Not really. I take a step back, I'm slowly moving away...

I froze.

Her friend is the very reason Blaise was upset and angry and even compared himself to the bloody Rockwood. And she is the reason I had this bloody nightmare. A whole week without those, does she even understand how long is that? (I'm sure she doesn't). And then - boom. There it was, grabbing me of good sleep. No matter how many hours I'm sleeping, after I nightmare I look like one myself. It's like being sleepless for a whole week.

I know it's not really her fault, I know it's not. I'm the one who should've stayed away. Her friend is not her fault either, but I just...there's tension in my body, I need to get rid of it. And she...well, she could've controlled her friend, couldn't she? She's got Potter and Weasel on her leash for six years now, for God's sake. 

I have to talk to her. But I can't really...talk. She'd be suspicious. She would just leave. (Well, she will, anyway, but it's...it's different. It's a challenge, for me and for her. Every conversation with her is a challenge. Goddamit, I had to get drunk because of her, I thought of her, I'm furious).

I'm also a moron if I'm taking off my bad mood on the most innocent person on this planet. Well. Nobody ever said I'm a good, mentally healthy man. (I'm sorry, Granger. I am. I just have to...)

"Need a little help there, Granger?"

She turns to me, she glares at me (obviously). Then she relaxes a little bit (in my presence? Horrible decision), she's watching me, from up to down. "You look like a crap today, Malfoy."

Bullocks, I always look like the heir of Malfoy fortune. My look is the only thing that belongs to me and is...well, good about me. (Wait, today?). "Today? So normally, I look incredibly handsome?" I smirk, I walk over to her. My hands in my pockets, I'm nonchalant (making her furious again by being like this). "Knew it, Granger. You're not so different from other girls in this castle, after all."

"Of course I am, Malfoy. I don't drool at your sight." She smiles a little, but it's a scoffing smile. (I should run). "But I suppose it's hard you look normally after being awash like a homeless man, so—whatever."

What now?

I won't give her the satisfaction, I won't; but now I'm even more mad. She really thinks she can mock me? Seriously? (Also: who sold me out? Nott, Pansy or Astoria?).

"Don't be so alarmed," she says casually, turning from me. She's bored. "Ginny overheard it."

You shouldn't have brought her to that conversation, Granger. "Oh, so your friend is both eavesdropper and shrew now?"

She turns to me abruptly, angry red blush on her cheeks. "What did you call her?" Her one hand is in the bag, she's probably searching for her wand to hex me (oh, finally).

I smirk down at her (she's so small). "Isn't she, though? She was extremely rude to Blaise."

"That doesn't give you right to insult her. Don't do that ever again, Malfoy," she takes out her wand, she points at me. "I warn you."

"Take that stick away, Granger, we both know I'm stronger and probably faster than you," I scoff. (I can mock her just like she mocks me; I'm way better in it than she is, sadly).

"I dare you to try, then."

"I dare your friend to insult Blaise one more time."

I look at her, she looks at me. She's full of fire, she's glaring at me, her eyes are practically burning. She purses, she's fighting in her own mind, but I'm not taking my cold glance away from her. We're both equally furious and determined this time (that's new one), but the difference is: I know where I stand on. She's not sure. Be loyal or be on the right side? (She knows that was one nasty move, the one which Weasley did).

(Like I said: it's always a challenge, it's practically kind of a drug; it's adrenaline).

"I'm sorry for Ginny said, she shouldn't have," she says cooly, "but is this how you Slytherins work out your problems, then? Getting drunk to the bones?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Is this how you Gryffindors work problems in your relationship? Avoiding significant other?"

She blushes furiously once more. "Mind your own damn business, Malfoy. I'm serious, it's—"

"None of my concern? Obviously it's not." I smirk nastily. "But if this is how your relationship with Weasley looks like, then no wonder how come you survived all these months."

I stepped way over the line.

I have no idea how their relationship looks like. Weasley is one nasty bastard, that's obvious, but they've been together for months now and Granger has her reasons to be with him. She's in love with him, probably (she's been so jealous on sixth year). His attitude...it must be hurting her a lot. Dammit, I could see that so clearly on Herbology, why did I say that?

I'm furious. But I shouldn't...these are not the words I should have used. And I know. I see her face, I see her looking somewhere else, anywhere else than my face, I see her lowering her wand. That was a real low blow, I'm a fucking moron.

Mock her and hurt her are two very different things. But I never notice that difference in the right time. (I'm always, well, me).

I sigh, I theatrically roll my eyes. I look at the shelves; it was the last one...I believe this book in dark, golden cover which doesn't look very old. It's for Transfiguration, which is not strange: Granger is fascinated by that. She's like a star on every lesson, but Transfiguration - she's a master of that.

I grab the book, I take it off, I give it to her. I'm like some kind of muggle machine now. "I believe it was this one."

She looks at me. She frowns, she doesn't understand why would I do that (I don't understand it either). She takes the book from me slowly, not taking eyes from me: she's not trying to understand me or fight me this time, she's just watching me to check if I'm not going to attack her. (I swear on bloody Malfoy Manor: I would never.) She nods: just once and really briefly. Even that short move is so cold.

I hate it. She's like a fire almost all the time and I like her that way. That cold exterior...it's for more broken, damaged people. But Granger? Fire made flesh. It's her characteristic.

"Should be a little taller, Granger." I smirk and I walk away. (Something's really wrong with me).

I can't even have peace of my mind right now (maybe it's better, I'd probably think about a trip to the Forbbiden Forest; now, why not, I'm not risking a damn thing). As soon as I leave the library (Miss Pince looks at me like if I robbed half of the room), Blaise catches up with me. "Thank God I found you without those lunatics!"

"Was wondering when were you going to escape them."

"You joking? When I got back and you were gone, I practically ran away. How did you manage?"

"I went to the bathroom? Pretend at least. There are places Astoria can't come into."

"Naturally," he rolls his eyes, but he's still amused. "Sorry to be the one telling you this, but this impressive fuss she did in the common room: problaby half of Hogwarts already knows about our funny night."

"Surprise, surprise. I bumped into Granger. Apparently your beloved Weasley overheard Pansy's conversation."

"This one really needs to keep her voice down," Blaise shakes his head. "She'd make a great comentator, though. Think McGonagall would go for that?"

"No way in hell." I stop, I look at him, I can't believe. "Really, Blaise? You prefer to accuse Pansy than accuse Weasley of, well, listening to other people's conversation? It's ridiculous."

"It's not really her fault, she just happened to hear it," he says defensively.

I roll my eyes (it's unbelievable). Just like Granger reminds me of fire, that her friend Weasley just is fire itself. Fire and predator combinated, she's like a freaking lioness, able to protect herself with claws and fangs, with biting and growling. Why everyone thinks she needs protection?

"Not in the good mood?" Blaise gusses as I don't say anything, I just go.

"Obviously. I'm not going to dinner."

"That makes two of us. I think—"

"Not a word about Weasley," I warn him. "If you say one more thing about her, I swear I'll—"

We overcome the corner, we're going from behind to wall, straight to the stairs; bumping right onto Weasley's freckled face.

It must be some kind of a joke (I never get them).

He falls, we don't; I'm just pushed away and need to flick my clothes (not sure if Weasley's perfectly clean), Blaise almost loses his balance, but he manages. It's only Weasley who has to get up; and doing this, he winces furiously. "I heard what you two bastards were saying," he says. He's red on his whole face, but unlike Granger, he certainly doesn't look adorable. More like angry, fat squirrel, with freckles and pimples. "Something about my sister, it was."

"We could've been as well talking about you," Blaise says calmly; not grinning, but not being haughty either. "But it's good thing you don't flatter yourself that much, Weasel."

"Don't you dare say even one more word to my sister," he growls, taking step towards Blaise; can't see his face now (what a relief for eyes, honestly). "Don't you dare even look at her, you understand?"

"Whoa there, Weasel." I pass by him, I take my side next to Blaise. Unlike him, I'm not just calm. I glare at him cooly and I'm also pretty sure I don't hide the scorn I'm feeling right now. "What makes you think you can make threats to us? As far as I'm conern, your sister is free person. You surely can't keep her on a leash." I smirk. "She's not the one who would let anyone do that, I'm afraid."

"I wasn't talking to you, you scum," he snarls. He's practically drooling because of his fury, it's disgusting (Granger, run away from that man, seriously). "Neither of you knows a damn thing about me or my sister or our family, but I heard she was on your practice. Because of your invitation," he glances at Blaise again. "Leave her the hell alone. Didn't she make herself perfectly clear? If you won't, be sure I will interfare. Just as well will Harry. You might've forgotten - she has a boyfriend."

"Making friends with other people is forbidden now?" Blaise laughs, but it's a cold laugh. Empty one. This kind that can make any man shiver. "I'll tell you what, Weasley. I'll stay away from your sister, of course I will: when she asks me to. Before that—you're not the person doing threats here. You won't be the one dictating terms to me." He leans over; Weasley is almost as tall as he is, but still not tall enough. He doesn't step back, but he's not angry bulldog anymore. He's lacked of confidence, it's both sad and pathetic. "And neither will be Potter. So, hear me very carefully: not. Your. Damn. Business. She's your sister, not a goddamn prisoner."

"That's what brothers are for, to protect their little sisters from bastards like you," Weasley says aggresively. "You'd know that if you had a sister, instead of killing someone else's."

No.

Just...no.

I want to punch him very hard, I really, really want to. But I can't. I promised McGonagall irreproachable behavior when I was going back to Hogwarts and I'm planning it to be that way; so did Blaise. I'm his guardian in that and he is mine, so I grab his arm (hardly; he feels my fingers despite the shirt, it hurts) and he stops, he takes a step back. 

I look closely at Weasley. I look at his hair, face, clothes, even at his shoes (everything in him is so tragic). Then back to his face. "Interesting source of information you've got, Weasley," I say so calmly and coldly he twitches. "Assuming you're not spying on your sister, of course. But since you're so informed: did you know Granger was there, too? Or maybe you don't care about your little girlfriend at all?"

He's hurt. He blinks, he glares at me: raging, but also very hurt. He knows about it, of course he does. But she didn't want to talk to him, she blowed him off. He's dying of jealousy. And also...

It seems like Granger thinks so, too. I hit a sensitive spot: she thinks he doesn't care.

I think he does, after all. But it doesn't change the fact he doesn't know what to do with that: he doesn't treats her the way he should. She deserves a thousand times better than what he's giving her. (How long before she realizes that, for God's sake?)

I smirk to him meanily. "That's what I thought. What a great boyfriend you are, Weasel. Any girl would be like to have you."

"You would know that, wouldn't you?" he scoffs.

"Yes I would," I'm still smirking. "Granger's miserable with you. Any blind man could see that." I look over my shoulder. "Let's go, Blaise. I think Weasel got the message."

We're going down the stairs: he's left all alone now. After a while, he'll probably start another bicker because of my words (How could that ferret possible think you're miserable with me, Hermione? Is that true? Did you tell him that? Are you two friends now?) and she'll be furious with me, but...perhaps this one bicker will be the final one: one too much. Perhaps she'll finaly see.

"I hate that son of a bitch, I swear I really do," Blaise murmurs. "She's his sister, not some dog! What—"

"We'll get him for those threats," I interrupt him. Why so fussing? I know Weasley will got for that. Blaise knows it, too. No need to react so strongly, really. "Relax, Blaise. You know we will."

I look at him when he looks at me. He gives me his devilish smile. "Obviously."

Obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, chapter #7. Ron finally exploded (and it's not going to be the only time he does).  
> Thank for the Kudos, it actually really warms my heart ^^


	8. Can't breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think the world just stopped and I happened to stop with it.

"You're doing really excellent job, Draco." Harper catches up with me, he's cheerful like a child that just got a lollipop. He literally couldn't be happier. "I know you should've been captain, we all knew that—you wanted that, of course, but then you were—you know, you became—anyway, we're going to crash Ravenclaws! It's going to be—"

"Easy now, Harper," Blaise returns suspiciously too quickly (he should be in changing room). "His ego is big enough already."

Ignore him. "I didn't wish to be a captain," I say to Harper. "It was just something I expected. You're not doing a bad job, though."

"Coming from Draco, it's equally to: you're fantastic in this", Blaise adds. He smiles as he sees Harper's face, full of astonishment (I'd say he's wondering what kind of bedlamite he's got in his team). "After years in his company, you learn those things."

"You're agitated today, Zab," I notice (hard not to).

"Indeed," Harper agrees. "Weasley girl again?"

"Not really," Blaise says; wonder if I'm the only one hearing regret in his voice. "But this is, in fact, about some—"

"Malfoy!"

There goes the queen. Really, Granger looks like one: like a warrior queen that's going to destroy. In this case, the person she's going to destroy is me.

Fire queen who's freezing, apparently. October is really cold this year, though and I can't blame her she's dressed up like a little bear: in winter coat and gloves and Gryffindor scarf she looks both adorable and dangerous. 

Her eyes are giving lightenings when she stands in front of me: arms crossed, death glare pointed at me. "We need to talk."

I could easily just smirk, say something mean and pass her, upsetting her really much (that would be a lot like me). But I'm not that kind of jerk; well, at least I'm trying not to be. That's the minimum I can do, since I'm still so derisive towards her.

I stop, I smirk. "Granger. It's lovely to see you, too."

"We—" Harper gestures towards the castle.

"I'll catch up with you." I say it mainly to Blaise and he knows it. Both he and Harper nod and walk away, but Blaise is the only one who turns around and gives me thumbs up, grinning. (That won't really help me, will it?).

"Missed me that much, Granger?" Can't help it: when she's so angry joking at her is just something I can't resist.

"You're hilarious today, Malfoy. We really need to talk." Her voice is sharper than any weapon I've seen (amazing).

"Yes, you said before. Here?" Strange surroundings: on the Hogwarts' grounds when everyone can see us from the castle. (Also: she's going to catch a cold). 

"Do you have a problem with this, Malfoy?"

She's not only angry, she's just raging. I expect her to burst into flames in any minute now, and even though I know Granger wouldn't seriously injure me (truce), I still remember her little spells during all these years...and that epic punch she gave me on the third year. So, conclusion: she's so mad she may actually hurt me. She doesn't even need a wand for that (I'm sure she took it, though).

"Pitch," I suggest. There's no wind there and it's not so easy to see us from the castle: I don't wish another attacks from Weasley, I'm going to plan confrontation on my own. "It'll be much better there."

"Why would I want to do things your way?"

"Because it seems you've got strong need to yell and grounds are not the best place," I roll my eyes. "There's no wind there, Granger. Come on."

Surprisingly, she doesn't argue anymore, she just goes. 

It feels strange - we're not walking side to side (obviously), she overtook me and I'm walking behind her, watching only her back, but still...I know we're going to talk (well, she's going to insult me and I'm going to listen). Talk with Granger, not by my initiative. That's new. (Could it happen more often?).

She's waiting for me on the pitch, near by the seats. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, she's trying to kill me with her gaze. Another fight with Weasley, I'm guessing. But why on Earth am I involved in this boring, romantic mess?

Hands in my pocket: that's the first thing to do. Another one: bored, nonchalant face, cold glance. Once I'm ready, I come to her (just then). "What is it, Granger? I've got things to do—"

"You're one piece of douchebag, Malfoy," she bursts off. (Wonder for how long she wanted to say that).

Raise my eyebrow at her. "Appreciate choice of words and all the compliments from you. Any reason you wanted to talk or did you just really miss me that much?"

She snorts. "You're an arrogant, selfish—"

"To the point, Granger." I don't even pretend bored. I enjoy looking at her like I usually do, but I don't enjoy being insulted that much: especially if she really means it, right from her heart. "What's this fuss about?"

"Fuss?" she huffs. "Fuss! Malfoy, how could you? How could you tell Ron I'm miserable with him? What the hell?"

(I knew it's about Weasley). "Language, Granger," I say casually; I shrug. "Well, your boyfriend bumped into me, got furious, annoyed me. So—"

"I don't care about your tiff, Ron told me all about it anyway. My point is he thinks these are my words! You're being the reason of problems in my relationship, Malfoy! Like I said the other day: you're interfering and you're just messing—"

"He yelled at you?" My surprise has no end... just like my rage. I would gladly kill that weasel right away.

How stupid Weasley really is? I don't mean in as in insult, I mean as a serious question (going to wonder about it for awhile; later). How big moron you have to be to yell at girl because somebody told you something? Merlin's beard, it's just ridiculous. Something's totally wrong with his head. (I'm being a bit of hyprocite at the moment.)

"It doesn't matter. What does is the fact you were the reason of this wrangle, which is just ludicrous!" she yells at me.

Fire, fire, fire.

"Granger," I'm trying to be calm, I'm doing my best, but it's really hard: in front of me I can see Weasley spitting his saliva and and yelling at her for no reason and it just makes me want to scream really loud. "Weasley yelled at you?"

"We've got into fight because of what you said," she responds. She's not yelling anymore, she already said the words she intended to (well, most of them at least). She's digging her nails to her coat now while glaring at me, panting. Emotions are ruling her right now, the way strong wind rules the leaves (don't enjoy imaging her like some sort of puppet).

"He yelled at you because of what I told him." I have to make sure I'm hearing her correctly, because this all is just beyond rational and I'm not sure if I'm more amused or disgusted.

"Yes," she growls frustratedly. "Are you really enjoying this, Malfoy? This troubles you cause? Playing others like toys, like instruments?"

(I want to say Weasley would make a really bad instrument with pathetic sound of lost animal, but I don't).

I think I'm a little bit amused; if I don't imagine tears in Granger's eyes as her and Weasley were yelling at each other, this situation is quite funny. I smirk. "Your boyfriend yelled at you because of my mockery. He didn't yell at me, he got it on you." I shake my head. How come this idiot is still alive? "Granger, can't you seriously hear how ridiculous it sounds? And here I thought you're always on the side of justice and rationality." 

She can't even fight for her own justice. What the hell has happened with her? (I might've been wrong, I prefer her yelling at me again: fire is wonderful, emptiness is terrifying when it comes to her).

"You've got no right to say those things," she says, but she's calm now. She's really smart, she knows I'm right: it is ridiculous. She shakes her head, she lowers her arms (not aggressive pose anymore). "Just—why would you say I'm miserable with him?"

There we go. This is the exact purpose of this conversation (finally), the reason why she's talking to me at all; this is the thing bothering her so much. I can literally bet she's been laying in her bed late at night, wondering why on Earth would I say words like that. She came up with milion of ideas, but couldn't be convinced to even one. So she came and asked me directly; because she's the Know-It-All Granger and she must know this little thing as well. My reason.

Why do I do now? Confuse her even more? (She really is right now and I've done nothing (yet), it's quite interesting). That's a lot like me, that's a good (the worst of all, actually) idea. "Because I meant it." 

Oh dear Lord, her face. Someone help me. (I know this wasn't that good idea).

She couldn't be more confused, really. She blinks, she's completeny stunned, she's looking at me as if she's never seen me before, like I was something (someone) absolutely new to her, and she can't figure it out (sorry about that, princess). She gets pale, opens her mouth...and then closes it, no words used. 

It's the first time she doesn't know what to say, I can't decide if I'm flattered or terrified.

Can't leave her in state like that, though (it's obvious, really; I wouldn't do that, I think). I sigh. "Come now, Granger, I've only said the truth. I suspect it's hard to admit it, but everyone in this castle can see that. Shame I'm the person telling you this, but it's true." 

Nobody would believe me if I said I'm actually an honest person: and very well, because that's not truth. I've been lying and manipulating and pretending my whole life, but Granger...who deserves truth more than her? 

Shouldn't be the one saying it to her, though. We're not even friends, we're barely allies. She has other people to talk about those things; where are her best friends now? 

"You didn't, since it's not the truth." She closes her eyes, she sighs, both tired and annoyed. "Malfoy, just—shoce off this whole thing, would you?"

"You came to me, remember?" I smirk, she narrows her eyes. I try not to think that what I'm saying is actually fact: she's the one who came to talk (she wanted an answer to her question, I know; but isn't she smart enough to figure it out by herself?). "Tell me one thing, Granger, since you wanted some honest answers from me."

"I never said—"

"You and Weasley: did you two just happen to spend some time together since holiday? Have you done anything which wasn't a wrangle?" 

"Of course we have!" She's furious with me again, red stains on her cheeks, her lips curled in the grimace of anger. "Naturally, we have! Not that's any of your business, Malfoy, it just we—Ron and are, we—"

She stops. She's breathing heavily and then she stops.

She's surprised she's got no more arguments. She blinks and looks at her feet, embarrassed (don't be, Granger) and hurt. She didn't think she won't be able to come up with something (as she always does for him, I'm sure).

My God, I feel sorry for her, I really do. I wouldn't think I'd feel it so much, but oh Lord, I do. She's so hurt and she doesn't deserve any of those things: the ones that has happened to her and the ones that are keep happening.

She needs to know the truth. And as usual I'm here, being the bad guy I've always been (it feels like home, it's almost warm in my chest). 

I raise eyebrows at her, sceptical with all my might . "You just what, Granger? What excuse are you going to make up for him now?" 

She crosses her arms, she glares back at me, her brown eyes shining with emotions. (I guess it another thing I enjoy about her so much: she never lets go. She never gives up, no matter what. She's not that kind of person). "Why do you care anyway?" Her voice, so high and sweet and soft like a honey (I seriously need to get over myself) is full of jeer (still wondering when she learned that). "You're enjoying I'm in pain, isn't that it?"

What. What what what.

What do I say?

Didn't expect that. Did not expect that at all. (Damn, I've got no ideas in my mind). Did she really said that? Does she really wants an answer? (Seems like she does, still waiting).

It can't be an honest one, obviously (That's the last thing I would enjoy). Obviously not, I've got shivers from even seeing this words in front of my eyes, hanging in the air. It's frightening. 

Naturally, Granger, I always do. (No, definitely not: completely not true, also: she would hate me even more and I want to avoid that). 

Of course I don't, Granger, I never would. (No: totally lame and she won't ever believe it).

I have to say something, I must.

I'm one pathetic little cockroach (she's been right all along; suprise, surprise). I have no idea what to say to that living fire. I don't wish to be burned alive and it seems I'm just going to be.

Bloody hell.

When did I became such a weakling? I clear my throat, I roll my eyes. I'm cold, I'm stone, I don't care. "I'm not a sadist, Granger, so that would be a no." Good, Draco, keep it up: not too kindly, not too severely either (didn't have to worry about that before; never realized how hard this art is). "Let's just say that no girl should feel that way in relationship." Too sentimental, too serious. "Well, maybe except Greengrass, but she's not exactly human being."

A shadow of a smile.

Did I really just see that? Did I really just see a shadow of a little smile on Granger's lovely face, the shine in her eyes (no hatred, no disgust). Did I just see...

I think the world just stopped and I happened to stop with it. 

I'm watching her. I'm still composed (fighting to stay that way), but I try to look at her...carefully, with interest I feel. And, to be honest: I do. I'm not letting my eyes leave her figure (not really hard trask, I've got experience). 

She quickly controls herself as well. She clears her throat, looking down; and when she raises her gaze at me again her eyes are shining just like those little stars, she's calm, but not raging anymore. She's not burning up and threating me as she was before. It's all safe and calm and cold now (don't dare to guess for how long).

She's insistently trying not to insult me (hard job, I can imagine). She sighs heavily, raising her eyebrows at me. "Well, as I must say your opinion is—surprisingly kind, Malfoy, it's none of your concern. You can't just say to Ron I'm miserable with him, it's not your place to say it."

Since I'm almost sure she's not going to hex me in the next few seconds, I take a shot (nothing to lose; not now, not ever, really). "Come on, Granger," I'm indulgent, (she's so ridiculosuy blind), "there's at least hundred of ways he could react to that. He chose the one ending another wrangle."

It seems I'm the stupid one now. She naturally knows what it all means: she doesn't want to hear it, but she's brilliant and she does know. What's more, she's ashamed because of that (doesn't she have the strenght to break it? Is it even possible?), she looks away, stubbornly refusing to admit I'm right. But she's not able to hide this pain in her eyes as she looks at the castle behind my back. 

She wasn't in that form on the Herbology a few weeks ago.

I can't be this harsh and arrogant, I can't. I'm afraid my voice is too gentle for my throat when I say, "It was worse than usual, wasn't it?"

It had to be. She seems like she's in great pain and my remark really hurt, unlike the former ones. That's the soft spot.

She looks at me, frowning. "What now?"

Hard to say this, I'm not good in conversations like that ( I'm never good with any kind of polite, honest conversation, actually; it's hard to talk to the person who represents both, politeness and honesty). I try to be unconcerned and kind at the same time (how do I do this?). "I'm saying you're not just mad at him, you're—" 

Hurt. Devastated. In pain.

But I just stop right there, not being able to say anything more, I shrug instead. It doesn't seem to be possible for me to keep going, naming the things she doesn't want to be aware og.

I can't name it, I can't say it (wish I could). But I can make her more aware. It'll hurt, it will hurt like hell, but perhaps she will finally break free. (Blaise asked me what I want, and right now? There's nothing I would want more, I thinkg.) "He actually thought these were words spoken by you exactly the same way it came out from me, did he?"

She hesitates. She can't and doesn't trust me, that's obvious (good move). And yet...she knows I'm somehow right. She knows I'm not the one hurting here - not the one avoiding the subject. On the contrary: it semes I'm the first person bringing it up.

I would never think she'd take my words seriously (I would never think they might have any matter), but it seems like she does. It seems on this ground I'm the first person reaching for her (didn't mean to; I just want her to break free from Weasley).

I'm waiting. I'm always waiting; usually for something that will never happen, but it doesn't change the fact I do. And this one time, it happens.

"Well yes, actually, he thought I really am; miserable, I mean. But I'm not. No matter what you think you see, Malfoy, you don't know a thing and I'm really not. It's just—" she shrugs, sighs, then looks down (it's hard for her). "He was frantic. I've never seen him that angry. He brought up even this stupid Quidditch practice, which I went to just for Ginny, and I don't know, it's—" She looks up, squints her eyes, suddenly suspicious. Some alarm woke up in her (It's Malfoy! Your enemy! You shouldn't be this kind and open to him, he's plotting something!), she even twitches like if she wanted to move away (but she doesn't). "What's going on with this sudden interest, huh?"

Honesty. Left that thing years ago, and yet: there it appears, just now. "Leave him."

"What?" She wobbles on her legs, she looks at me convinced I'm joking. Her eyes are wide open, her lips are gently parted. She can't believe in what she's heard and I can't believe I really said that.

However, I didn't use to retreat. Run away, yes, but retreat? (I'm guessing that her and I are quite similar on that matter: none of us will ever give up).

"I said: leave him." I'm hiding my hands in pockets so she wouldn't see I'm digging nails in my skin to remain this peaceful. How could I say something honest like that, like if I was thinking she was actually going to do that.

I mean, she'll have to, someday. I hope none of us believe she'll end as Weasel's wife, Mrs. Weasley (it makes me want to vomit when I only think of it). But...

"You really are a lunatic, Malfoy." She shakes her heads, scoffing. "I can't just leave him, he's my boyfriend. I'm in love with him."

(Why is she explaining herself to me? Did I ask for that? Even if I did, why would she do that?)

And yet I keep going, I can't stop now. She wanted honesty, she wanted truth? Didn't think that through and now it's too late. "Are you really Granger? Because you certainly don't look like a person who's in love." Well, I don't to either (to think about it that way), but I'm master of masks; and a great coward as well. I raise eyebrow at her, arrogant all over again (almost love this mask). "Just admit it, would you?" 

I watch her like a snake, not amused at all now. I feel like higher might, since I don't have that kind of show in my life (I have her, though, that's completely another imprisonment).

She looks back at me, her eyes a lot lighter with fire within, I can see how dangerous little thing she really is right now, with claws and fire (that's what we are, isn't it? A snake and a lion, like it all should be.)

"I will not leave him." Her voice is sharp and cold, she's stubborn like hell and she's trying to prove it to me. (What's the point?). Does she think I care that deeply whether she leaves him or not? (I do, obviously, but how could she possibly know that?) She's doing the exact opposite on what I'm trying her to suggest to do (does she thinks it's a fortel?).

Not really trustful one, is she? I shrug. "Then you keep torturing myself, but it's your choice, I guess." I look her straight in the eyes, she looks at me back: head up, fire burning in her eyes (still). Just like I put it: none of us is ever going to back down. She's threating me with her fire; I'm, however, cold like a frozen lake itself and I don't want to look away. I promise with her my eyes I'm not trying to hurt her, I'm helping her, I'm telling the truth (wish I could say it aloud).

Furious, fire - then her gaze changes into softest one, more unsure and scared. Finally, she blinks and all the magic, all the fight goes away. (Fights like that? I would love that).

She sighs and huffs, frustrated (didn't get the answers she wanted). "Why are you like this?" Her voice is so quiet I can barely hear it through the wind (which shouldn't be there on the pitch).

Still not giving up. "Why am I saying these things?" I roll my eyes. " Well, I'm being honest, Granger. Sorry I must be the poor bastard who's telling you the obvious truth, but—"

"No, I mean: why are you trying to help me?" she interrupts, her eyes on my face again, confused. She's frowing, there's tiny furrow between her eyebrows. "You're just Malfoy, you're mean and evil as always—"

"I'm not."

Fuck. Shouldn't have said that.

"What?" She's completely confused, dammit. What game am I playing right now? It seems like I make the rules, but I don't exactly understand nor follow them.

"Nothing. Go on." I wave my hand at hear, I don't care. I don't. Got no reason to, honestly. (I convinced myself into some things before, using this way. It never worked with Granger, though, but I may always try again).

"You're not—what?" she's watching me like I've been watching her, carefully, trying to understand what's going on in my head, why I am...well.

(Evil. Please, don't say I'm evil. I'm not, Granger, I'm not.)

"For God's sake, Granger, are you going to continue or may I be excused to leave?" Mask, mask, mask. I'm a coward and I don't even care (sad).

"That's what I'm talking about!" She's annoyed and I'm arrogant again, I'm cold, I'm acting like mighty power. I have to (she'll never understand), and yet I feel almost as annoyed as her when I hear her voice. "You're just you, spoiled and snnobish and selfish as you always were, and then you're—trying to help me somehow, I guess."

"I'm telling you the truth, that's not helping," I point out. 

"You're telling me what nobody's told me before. Unless you're doing this to hurt me, I'd say it is some sortf of helping." She sighs, glares at me sideways. "Which is still very confusing. Are you playing some kind of game?" 

It seems like I do, yes. But I have no idea what the rules are. I shrug. "Perhaps I am." 

"Why should I leave Ron?" She crosses her arms, raises her eyebrows. She's sceptical...and yet, she wants to know how will I answer (she's the biggest mystery in this world, honestly).

"Because he's making you—" I wave my hand to her; seems like I don't respect her, oh well. Have to say this, it's important. "This sad, fragile person. I mean, was that a purpose of being with him? You're just making a fool of yourself." Never too kind, keep it up. It confuses her, I'm aware: but she also doesn't worry now, she knows things are just the same. It keeps her calm (I hope).

"If I leave him, I will lose a friend."

She really is alone in this. Can't talk to Potter: his Weasel's best friend. Can't to talk to Weaselette: she's Weasel's sister. 

I turn my back at her (I don't want to, I want to look at her like I usually do). I can't be her adviser now. "I don't know, Granger, and I won't advise you on this. Do both of us a favor and don't try make me this good, helpful man I'm not."

"Why?" Her voice is a steel, she won't let go. "I'm curious, Malfoy, answer me this. Why?"

"Because I lied, Granger." I turn to her, I'm freezing inside; I see Granger freezing as well as she sees my face. "I'm a master of lying. I thought Potter was in compartment that time, when I was vaunting about being a Death Eaher. It was my choice." 

Yes it was. Somebody help me, it was my own bloody choice and it's my responsability; and Granger, of all people only her, knows it very well. It just seems like she needs a reminder.

"I see."

Of course she does. She always sees everything, understands it. She's just... Good. So wisdom and goodness in one person, how is this possible? 

"I wanted to be a Death Eater, so I became one. Don't think about me differently because of one thing I said." I smile at her nastily. "Don't be naive. You really think it came from the goodness of my heart?"

"What's the purpose, then?"

Turn around, Draco. Turn. Around. Walk away and shut up and...

"Entertainment. Murderers like this."

She frozes.

I'm still going this way. "You want an advice from murderer? From Death Eater? I'll give you one, just for free: leave Weasley. Stop being so miserable, because that's exactly what you are right now."

I finally turn around. I show her my back, I face the castle and I'm walking away from her, can't see her face right now. Honestly, what did she expect? Thar I've changed? Yes, I have. I had to. But not that much, not for her, not...not in the right away.

I can almost hear her voice, so clearly in my mind. "I don't believe you." (Is it real or my mind? Can't really tell).

My mind is my fucking hell. And I'm a goddamn scum.

I'm confusing her, I can see that, obviously. I'm trying not to balance so much, but it's still too much for her. I tried no to be a jerk to her - and I tried my best in not being too kind as well. And yet, she's still confused and I'm changeful like a fucking weather.

What the hell is wrong with me?

She hates me, that will never change. And she despises me. I could've just helped her and walk away - or not say anything at all, it's not my damn business (like she keeps telling me), I didn't need to explain myself. 'Because I mean it', seriously? 

Why can't I just stay away? 

I don't intend to hurt her more, I never wanted to and I don't want to now. She's been through a lot from the hands of my family, there's a scar on her forearm that I could as well put there myself. I should just...Let it go. She doesn't need me nor my cold look nor anything that includes me. I'm a freaking moron. How can I possible hate Weasley if I'm...

I hear the shouting.

Not the screams I'm having in my nightmares, nothing like that: these are raised voices, females' ones, full of anger and...

Daphne. And Tracey. I've known them for few years, I learned to recognize their voices. Never thought there would be need to recognize them during a battle (and there wasn't), but I just...remembered them. If needed. You never know what is that you're going to need, after all. 

I enter the Common Room and as I do I see them all: they're gathered next to the fireplace, taking the middle of the room: and they're absolutely the loudest there. They're shouting words while everybody's present (those who didn't escape, I reckon) are just dead silent, watching the show.

It doesn't seem to be interesting one. Milicent, Tracey, Agnes, Pansy - they're all here, along with Daphne. This one is sitting behind them one the archmair, so slim she almost disappears it in (drinking potions, Astoria told me; not that I care, but it's a relief she'll get what's coming for her in next 10 years as the potion will give her hellish consequences), with her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed like a viper. She's not going to stand up for her little sister like she's never done.

Astoria turns to me as I walk in, just like if she knew it was me who's entering. She doesn't seem broken or intimidated: chin up, cold glance, brave face. But she's never been good at pretending and manipulating. Most Slytherins are just born good liars and Astoria is too, but playing, pretending? That was never her thing.

As she's lost now. She gives me a weak smile and although I can't see her tears or her voice doesn't shake as she speaks I know she's on the edge. "Draco, there you are. You're missing a party."

Looks like I am.

Few years ago I'd ignore that, I most certainly would. It' tedious, not my problem and also: I'm not in the mood. I just want to be alone with Firewhisky right now, but it's about Astoria. 

Astoria, who would be just a little girl, just another shadow to me: but no, she's like a sibling I never had, like I little sister I can count on and who protects me (not the other way around). She's the first person I told about Granger (the only one, really; didn't need to tell Blaise) and she didn't turn me in or laugh at me like most Slytherins would do. She's a sweetheart. She's lovely, selfless and sweet and one of the kindest person I've met. I owe her really much. She's almost like a family, my person to protect.

I feel the cold rage as I see that weak smile. It's going down my throat to my stomach and up again: like ice that eats you alive.

I swear to Merlin they're going to regret it.

"What is this all about?" I ask, hand in my pocket. I have to calculate, have my mind clear and cold, not like those lunatics. (Also: where are Blaise and Theo? If they were in their dorms they would hear this mess).

Pansy sighs (tired? really?). "Nothing you should worry about, Draco, I assure you. If you're looking for Blaise he's—"

"I'm not asking about Blaise, I'm asking what the hell is happening in my goddamn House."

I don't change my cold voice or my calm look (it's all normal), and yet everybody froze; besides Daphne, I can only see something flashing in her eyes. She remembers I'm in the charge here: they all do. 

Milienct tries to calm the situation (me). "Nothing serious, Draco, it's really—"

"I stood up for Muggle-born," Astoria finally says.

Muggle-born. We all know who's my favorite one, don't we? (If they insulted Granger and Astoria had to defend her then I swear to Merlin...)

Pansy's squint. "Mudblood," she hisses, reminding me of a very livid snake, ready to cut you open. I know Pansy's defensless, and yet... "You've been here for the last six years, Merlin's beard." She turns to me. "This is the reason of this fuss, Draco. She's betraying her own."

"Being in Slytherin means hating Muggle-borns? Here, when some of us are half-blood?" Astoria raises her chin, she challenges Pansy.

Not good decision: some harsh words had to be said if Astoria looks the way she does (on the edge). I come closer then, I land my hand on her shoulder and she twitches: then looks at me with gratitude in her eyes. Pansy gasps silently.

I don't look at her, I look at Daphne. "Won't you stand up for your own sister?" I'm curious.

Daphne snorts. "She's a disgrace to our family by saying those things. Muggle-borns are equal, sure! What will be next? You marrying a Muggle, Ria?" The smile appears on her face, it's nasty one. "You know parents will disinherit you, right?" 

"Oh, so this is all about? About this prejudice again?" I ask. 

Pansy sighs with relief. "Yes, Draco. Like I said, nothing—"

"I will be the judge of whether it is or it's not my concern, Pansy." I glare at her cooly, she gets pale. "Have you idiots missed the war we've been fighting against Dark Lord? Have you missed pure-bloods and Muggle-borns dying side by side?"

"Hard to miss," Tracey scoffs. "Just like the fact you were a Death Eater, hiding in the Malfoy Manor as Dark Lord's puppet."

CRASH. As if the branch broke.

Pansy frozes and doesn't move even one finger when Astoria slaps Davies. Have to say I'm proud of her - it's a good slap, open-handed, the one that left a merk on Davies' face.

She glares at Astoria, I can see red lights of fury in her eyes. "You little—"

I come closer to them again. "If anybodoy will insult Astoria again," I raise my voice, "from whatever reason, they will answer to me." I smirk. "Which is equal to mummy and daddy being summond to Hogwarts, I reckon. Believe my family will be involved as well, what a coincidence we're so important in wizarding world." I turn to Astoria. "Did I forget anything?"

She smiles. Pale smile, but it's still something. She's relieved. "Besides the fact I'm right in my notion?"

"That's obvious, of course you are," I turn to Davies. "You'll speak to me like that once again and I can make sure you'll be unemployed and dependant on your parents for the rest of your life. Also, stay away from Blaise. You're just a toy, if you didn't realize it by now." Smirk again. "We all know you won't even be anything more than someone's toy, Davies. Better realize it now, I think. Saves the trouble."

"Draco, what happened to you?" Pansy shakes her head, she's not able to believe. "You can't—"

"Oh, I can do everything I want, Pansy." Nasty lie, but it'll do. "One more thing: from now on, you cannot be seen on our Quidditch practice. If I see any of you, I'll take care of Blaise making his promise."

Daphne finally stands up. "Draco, don't be ridiculous."

I come up to her, Astoria on my side, her eyes full of disdain as she looks at her sister; like she was nothing. Daphne squints, seeing this; I lean to her. "Your sister is a person you'll never achieve to be," I say very quietly; she flinches. "And no matter whether your parents will disinherit her or not, she'll always have a Malfoy fortune. Which means she'll be richer than you, no matter on what grounds."

Daphne is shocked, but doesn't say a thing this time (praise the Lord). I lead Astoria towards the stairs, whole Common Room watching our back. "Come now, Astoria, you don't want this filth around."

"Sure thing I don't. It gets me sick."

I smirk. "Understable."

I take her with me, I'm planning on cheering her up and protecting her. That's the minimum I'm able to do. She's like a little sister to me (better to me than my family ever was) and I'm not letting anyone hurt her. Especially those nasties.

Even Pansy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's chapter #7, probably the longest of all chapters. I didn't think the conversation between Draco and Hermione would take this much, but here we are. Sorry about mistakes, but I got really strong headache from correcting this, so it's surely not perfect. Sorry again.
> 
> Also: to avoid all the misunderstandings...
> 
> First thing: Ron is not abusing Hermione or anything like that. They're just bickering a lot. All of the characters are survivors after the war, they're all a bit traumatized and they're fighting with that trauma in individual ways. I've never liked Ron in the books, but I'm trying to not to ruin this character. He lost his brother, he survived the war, he's searching for relief and doesn't really know how to do that. Him and Hermione are fighting a lot, but it doesn't mean he's a harrassing her or something.
> 
> Second thing: many of you may think I'm doing Draco's character as a weak, in-love one, not at all like he was in the books/movies. That's the thing: I'm trying to create Draco the exact way he was introduced to us by J.K. Rowling, keeping in mind he's after war, too. Another thing: it was told by J.K. Rowling herself in one interviews that Draco 'had feelings for Hermione throughout the series, but he wasn't able to show it'. Throughout the series, which means 7 books: 7 years. I'm shipping Dramione hard (I think we all here do; you guys wouldn't be reading this if it was opposite) and I believe that crush little Draco might've caught on the first year wasn't so little if it lasted 7 years. This is why I'm giving those notes about Draco judging Hermione's looks, saying 'Sorry' to her many times in his head: I think he truly is sorry. I'm trying to do what J.K. Rowling almost said aloud: he wasn't able to say it, but he did feel it. 
> 
> So, summarizing it all up: I'm not making Draco a weakling, I least I'm trying not to. But since he's in love, he thinks like a man who loves a woman with all his heart. Hope it's understable. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for all the Kudos!


	9. Go cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now it's getting interesting.

"Draco, I don't need pro—"

"Nonsense," I interrupt her; so arrogantly it may seem I don't give a damn of what she's saying to me. And I try to act that way, just to piss her off.

And it works - oh, it works so perfectly. Astoria snorts and turns away, pretending to be offended, and I smirk at that, because it's just lovely sight for sore eyes. 

I know everyone's watching as we enter Great Hall together, but I don't really care. They're usually watching when it's something untypical, like me and Astoria so close to each other. "Blaise would be delighted if you were showing up in our dorm for another reason than yelling and pouring ice water on him."

She smiles, amused; she's like a little ray. "That was necessary, you know it was."

"Absolutely. And you're welcome to our practices as well, it's been confirmed that pretty ladies have a good influence at all of us."

This time she laughs out loud. "Draco, are you flirting with me?"

"I like to think it's Zabini's job." I look up straight at him, grinning like usual. "And, speaking of the actual devil—"

We approach, sit in front of Blaise and Theo, who immediately pours Astoria some tea - so abruptly he almost spills it all out. I look at Blaise, but even then I don't know what's going on: he's just giggling.

"Blaise just told me what happened last night," Theo says as he sits back down, his eyes full of unusual regret. "Ria, I'm so sorry—"

"Don't be, nothing bad really happened." Astoria waves her hand flippantly and shrugs. "Draco was there."

"Draco Malfoy a.k.a Brave Ferret," Blaise announces. "That's the title you could use."

"Over my dead body," I tell him. Why is everybody finding this ferret story so hilarious? "Astoria might be at our next Quidditch practice."

"No, I won't be there," she says, her voice is suddenly sharp. 

I look at her, sigh (she can be a stubborn child sometimes). "Astoria—"

"If they think I need protection they'll literally tear me apart when the opportunity appears, and we all know it eventually will," she says so firmly that I know I lost. "I appreciate your concern, but they can't see I need to be defended by you. Because I don't, I can handle it."

I almost smile at her as I turn to her, this little sly serpent who knows how to manage and survive. I nod to her shortly. "Obviously you can."

She smiles joyfully and turns to have breakfast.

"Well, it's also obvious we're going to keep an eye on you for awhile," Blaise adds. "Just for now, you know, to—make sure."

"Make sure, huh?" She looks at him amused. "When did I got three bodyguards?"

"You don't have an older sister - well, not great one, at least - but instead you got three older brothers," Blaise replies her. "I'd say it's very profitable exchange."

Astoria laughs again. I'm sure this laughter is more louder and cheerfull than usually and I know she's doing it on purpose, so everybody would see and hear she's doing just fine (smart girl). "It definitely is, Blaise," she says.

Blaise grins to her and then turns to me, flames in his eyes. "You done eating? We've got work to do."

Wasn't that hungry anyway, I move away my plate. I can feel the energy in my whole body.

"Wait, what work exactly?" Astoria asks.

Blaise explains it to her (well, not directly and not with details), and I turn around. Granger just enters the Great Hall with Weaselette at her side (had to come up with some nickname for her) and looks at me, then at Astoria, and then back to me. I can practically see the process in her golden mind, trying to think it all: and connect it all with yesterday's conversation.

I look at her, I don't stop. I only raise my eyebrows, that's the only move I make, but it's still enough for her - she glares at me and turns to her table. She doesn't sit with Potter and Weasley.

I'm starting to think I'm watching the beginning of the end and I'm really enjoying it.

"I'm starting to think it's a bit childlish," Blaise tells me as we leave the Great Hall, "but it's done. The potion stopped working just a few minutes ago, Ginny is about to find out about everything and—"

"Good," I say. Hurting Weasley isn't much better than childlish jokes, that's true, but I can't help it: I have to see him furious.

"You want to hurry up? If you want to play a little with Hermione before lesson with Slughorn—"

"I don't. Granger is off the plan."

I've been thinking about it half of the night, until it appeared as the obvious solution: if I'll make Weasley jealous he'll get it on her. And as much as I want them to quarrel so they would finally break up, I don't want to imagine Granger's pain. She can't be a part of this (sadly; I'd love to flirt with her).

Blaise lets go a cheerful cry. "Wonderful! Oh, thank Merlin, I never wanted her to—"

"I know, your sensitive heart wouldn't survive it, would it now?" I shake my head; I have no idea what's happening with my friend, but sometimes I can barely recognize him. "Go on. In fact, we need to hurry."

"Hell yes we do!" Blaise is victorious. "Here we come!"

If nobody figures out it's our job it'll be a literal miracle. 

But it's all normal just now. We appear at Potion lesson, take our seats; Theo catches up with us, glaring at Slytherin girls (wonder if he feels sorry for Astoria so much or is it just a pretext), I start my usual work at staring at Granger (her hair used to become dishevelled on every Potion lesson but they're always tied up now, today it's a ponytail) and Blaise keeps watching Potter and Weasley, completely forgeting about his own potion.

I look at them too, but only once. Potter is completely focused on his work, he's reading, chopping, throwing ingredients into a cauldron, mixing it all with such enthusiasm as if his life depended on it. Weasley, however, is red on his face and from time to time he glares at Granger - not at all lovingly, but with anger. He's vexed.

She's the one who's got the right to be like a vulcano with fury. Why is he? Was he really thinking he's the perfect boyfriend?

I cut the glance off, I focus on Granger - she doesn't seem to think about her boyfriend at all right now and it really pleases me. I'm watching her, her focused face, frowned eyebrows and careful look when we all hear the big BOOM from the other side of the classroom.

Oh, well.

I watch Weasley face (now it's dark-purple colour), his smoking hair and robe - and the scent that slowly begins to surround us. I see how some girls theatrically wrinkle their noses, they turn away. Potter coughs and covers his face with his sleeve, his eyes as big as galleons.

I hear Blaise's chortle behind me - and Theo's theatrical sigh. "What did you two do now?"

"I've got completely another, more interesting question," Blaise says. When I glance at him he's not laughing anymore (it's amazing how childlish and joyful he pretends to be in once second, and in the next he's haughty, serious and completely uninterested in everyone again). "How did you do it?"

I smirk at him. "Secret of the master, Zab," I look at Theo. "Now you know how I feel with you two every single day."

Nott rolls his eyes, I turn away from them. I'm almost proud of myself and no matter how low standard is that, Weasley's face is giving me hell of satisfaction - he's embarrassed, furious, and he's completety ruined. Even conditioner may have problem with this hair.

"Mr. Weasley!" Slughorn rushes towards them, his face is covered in his sleeve as well (I'm happy I'm on the other side of the class and I can't smell the stink yet). "I very clearly told you not to add—"

"Don't laugh," I hear Theo talking to Blaise. "Do not laugh, you prat."

"I'm not!" Blaise replies. "I'm mighty Zabini, for Merlin's sake!"

"I wouldn't call you mighty, Zab."

Like an old marriage. I roll my eyes (I'm amused, though; no wonder how I survived with Blaise all those years, him and I are very much alike, he's only less serious than I am) and look at Granger.

Since she's looking at Weasley, I can't see her face; but I can see his. When Slughorn walks away and Weasley stands up (he's going out of the class), he looks at her. He's shocked, he's sad, he wants her to comfort him, I'm sure. He looks at her...then winces and quickly goes away.

What a bastard.

"It's not the only thing you've got for him, is it?" Theo asks as I look back at Granger, she's blinking and returning to her potion like nothing happened (it has happened: she got pale, she looks insecure, I want to come to her and comfort her). Potter's coughing can be heard by the whole classroom.

"Of course not," Blaise says. "Merlin have mercy: is that how you think of us, Nott? That this is all we've got?"

"I know it's not," I can hear Theo's smile. "But—perhaps you could have Slytherin girls included in that?"

Not that bad idea. Considering I feel Pansy's burning gaze on my back, I migh seriously think about that.

Not now. I can't stop looking at Granger's hurt face.

(Leave him.)

Weasley comes back after quarter of an hour, in new robes. It didn't help him very much: he's still embarrassed and he's still stinking, even Potter doesn't look very pleasant (was it childlish? Sure; but it was good to feel he got what he deserves). Granger doesn't make the same mistake twice, she doesn't even look at him and she's packing her things really quickly - but not quick enough. Blaise and I are doing the same (I'm hoping to escape from Pansy) and we walk from the classroom just to see two Gryffindors talking.

"But what are you doing here?" Granger is asking when we walk out. "Gin, it's not the best—"

"YOU!" Weaselette storms out towards her brother when he leaves with other Gryffindors (they're trying to subtly move away from him).

Granger is hurt and quiet, but calm. This, however, can't be said about her friend - who is, in fact, a living vulcano which had just exploded. She catches her brother, she pushes him hard. "I'm going to give you hell of the time!" she screams furiously (to be honest: I'd be afraid to walk to her right now). "You're disgusting, Ron Weasley! You've stepped way over the line and you can be sure I'll write to Mum about this!" She pushes him again. "And why do you stink so much, for God's sake?"

Slytherins can't hold it: nobody in our house is fan of Weasley, and so they all burst out into laughter.

Weasley is red on his face again, he's glaring at his sister. I can practically see silva on his mouth already, but Potter the Hero tries to save the day as usual: he goes to his warrior girlfriend, he grabs her arm gently. "Gin, this is may not be the best moment—"

"There will be no other moment, as I will never speak to him again!" She breaks out from his grip, she glares at him now. "Do you even know what your best mate did?!"

Potter is confused and lost like a little puppy. He looks at Granger, at Weasley, and just then at his own girlfiend. "Well, I'm not exactly sure—but, Gin, I think it's better if—"

"I'm going to tell him, then!" Weaselette turns to her brother again. "He should know about that, won't you agree?"

"I don't even know what are you talking about!" Weasley finally burts out.

His sister laughs sneeringly. "Oh, sure thing. I've juest had a lesson with Luns and she told me what you did! Hit on her like that? Are you out of your bloody mind?!"

I turn to Blaise. I'm trying to do it slowly and quietly, to come it really natural, but Nott ruines it anyway, watching us wide-eyed. I glare at my friend. "What on Earth did you do? You've gone too far?"

"Nothing horrible, I suppose," he shrugs. "I didn't hurt her, I never would, Lovegood is sweet. Oh, cut if off!" He glares at Nott. "I didn't do anything bad, but it just wasn't wanted from Weasley by her."

Theo rolls his eyes. "What a genius you are. You're going to tell me everything, you sneaky snakes."

"Potato potahto," Blaise says, shrugging again. He couldn't care less (I'm wondering what exactly he did; seems nothing bad, at least I hope so, Weaselette is just one vivid being).

"I didn't even see Luna today!" Weasley shouts.

"Yeah, right! I've got only one brother in Hogwarts, you know?" She looks at Potter. "This is how your best friend is acting! You are one sick bastard!" 

She slaps her brother so loudly and violently then some of Gryffindors screams; and so does Weasley himself. Then, he takes out his wand.

Now it's getting interesting.

"Ron!" Potter covers his girldfriend with his own body, he spreads his arms. "Calm down right now!"

"Don't you remember your sixth year, Harry? Let him!" Weaselette mocks.

"Ginny!" And suddenly Granger is there, grabbing her friend: it could seem like she's hugging her, but in fact she's holding her arms so she wouldn't do any more damage. "Harry, calm Ron down, would you? It's—"

"I haven't done a thing!" Weasley roars. 

"Luna is not lying!" His sister screams in return.

"Calm down right now!" Granger moves her away: to the other side the corridor, just then she lets her go, turn her face to face, starts calming her, comforting, asking.

Fuss around us is slowly ending as well, with Potter and Weasley going away, along with two other Gryffindors who are covering their noses without even hiding it.

"Hold on a minute," Theo says when I want to walk way. "Won't Granger break up with Weasley now?"

"Of course not," I tell him. Thought about it, but no: I'm sure it won't happen (unfortunately). "She'll talk to him, to Lovegood, to Potter; and besides, she's smart. She'll figure out it wasn't him."

"Right," Nott snorts, then turns to Blaise. "What did you do to Lovegood?"

"I'd like to know that, too," I look at him.

"For God's sake, I didn't molested her! I am a gentleman, after all," he growles. "I did not hurt her and I did not stepped over the line. It's just—I'm pretty sure she didn't want Weasley to hug her like a teddy bear, which I did. "

"Who would?" Theo asks. "I'm posivitethat even Granger avoids physical contact with him."

I really hope he's right: I avoid imagining Weasley and Granger kissing and touching and I hope she didn't let him...well.

(Even if she did: not my business at all).

"Good job, Zab," I tell him when I pass by both him and Nott. "Her boyfriend will give Weasley hell of the time as well."

"Boyfriend?" Theo is stunned. "Lovegood has a boyfriend?"

"Obviously, my very ignorant friend," Blaise smiles. "Rolph Scamander. Total pipsqueak, if you ask me, but—"

"Nobody asked" I inform him; Nott smiles. "Now come on. Pansy's haunting at me."

"Mighty Draco Malfoy as a victim of the haunt!" Blaise cries out loud. "Fear not, my dear friend, thou will be protected by Theodore Nott!"

I almost smile, seeing Theo pushing Blaise down the stairs (well, he's trying to).

I wish I wasn't here, I wish I was away from Granger and England and all of this mess. But right now - bloody hell, it almost feels like home.

***

I always enjoyed Quidditch. My Father always wanted me to work in Ministry, but after everything that happened I sincerely doubt I had any chance there, no matter I'm a Malfoy. But being a Quidditch player and doing it for living isn't an option either. I'm good, but not good enough (I'm never enough). I used to have dreams about being really great, really famous player, way more than that moron Krum - but it's never going to happen, I didn't pay attention to Quidditch that much, too busy plotting and making life difficult for Golden Trio. And now the gate is closed and I have no idea what I'm going to do with my life - if I'm ever going to do anything with it. Who's going to hire an ex Death Eather, even though his name was clarified? I can't see that happening, to be honest.

But Quidditch...I had this really nice feeling since my first time on the broom. I got to the team just to piss Potter off, but I learned to enjoy that - this feeling, this freedom, the wind around me and the other people under my feet, small like ants. It's beautiful, it's magnificent, even. I guess I'll always remember that in a nice way, unlike most of my memories. These are the good ones.

I almost smile as I sit on my broom now. Can't wait until--

There is a whistle. There is me, pushing away from the ground...

And there's nothing, nothing's important anymore. I'm high, I'm as high as possible, above them all, I left it all behind; or below, rather. I am light, fast, amazing.

"Nice dodge, Goldstein, really good one! Don't you worry, Zabini, you'll bring him down later—or not!"

I look around, but Harper shakes his head warmingly. I have this urge to ignore him, but I don't. He's the captain.

He's the bloody captain.

And so here I am, flying up, gently, slowly, scouring the pitch, ignoring the players, clubs, bludgers...

I'm circling and cirling around, passing Corner from time to time, once flying really high, and once really low. But the Snitch just...wasn't there.

And yet, it was. Somewhere.

(Where the hell are you?)

I lose the feeling of lightness and weightlessness. Slytherin attacked, overtook Ravenclaw (we, Slytherins, always do that: we overtook everybody else), but Ravenclaws are fierce beasts. We only win twenty points.

Bad. Really, really bad. 

The feeling in me is frustration.

I circle the whole pitch: higher and higher, then lowerer again, diving between the players; I pass Corner a few times, who chose completely differente tactic: he's as high as possible and observes me like a damn hawk.

I'm flying forward, perhaps I'll see that bloody Snitch somewhere with the corner of my eye. I glance to the right, to the left, I hear the moaning from the stands when Ravenclaws win more points. Oh, dammit.

The green side of the stands looks quite disappointed, almost despressed. Just next to them, Ravenclaws are practically going crazy: even a couple of Hufflepuffs came to keep them company, and Gryffindors, probably wanting to watch our defeat, watch us bleed ourselves to death on the pitch (not going to happend).

I know one of these Gryffindors.

Granger?

There is no hallucination. I don't see the red hair of her boyfriend or her best friend, or even Potter's tragic hairstyle. She's standing next to a group of some loud Ravenclaws, clapping and smiling. There is no way I can see anyone else. Granger, in all her glory, wrapped in crimson and gold - the colors of her House.

It's clear she doesn't care about me or my victory. She came to see me lose. She came to see my House lose. 

I don't intend to give them all this satisfaction.

I fly low; violently. Corner rotates abruptly towards me, convinced that I've found a Snitch - but I turn and fly up, then low again... 

And I see it.

A tiny, golden ball rotating in the place just below Corner's feet; Corner, who realized I hadn't found anything at all and and he's looking around, wondering what to do next. Suddenly, the Snitch turns violently to the North and flies ahead - and I forget about all the strategy, the curiosity and patience. One stumble and Slytherin will lose and I'm not having that. 

It's Quidditch. It's an honorable matter.

I'm fast; I'm positive that I'm even faster than wind at the moment. I pass Harper (grinning to me) by really quickly, I'm following the little golden thing, I'm not going to get distracted. It's mine now. 

"Oh dear goodness, Malfoy saw the Golden Snitch!"

Slytherins in the stands suddenly woke up. Out of nowhere, I can hear them yelling, can hear their excited cheers: FASTER, FASTER.

I'm trying to fly faster.

But it doesn't matter anymore, we've already won. Nosedive: that's what I need. I've practiced this maneuver a thousand times, and Corner is way too far, there's no chance he'll catch me. We've already won.

The Snitch gets up suddenly, just a foot above the ground - and I do the same. I reach out; the bloody thing cuts my finger, I accelerate.

I clench my hand on it.

"SLYTHERIN WON! TWO HUNDRED SEVENTY TO ONE HUNDRED AND TEN! THE SNAKES WON!"

I fall gently to the ground. Everyone's yelling, they surround me, Blaise pats me so hard on the back that I think for a moment whether he plans to knock my spine out. Slytherins from the stands run towards us, with Theo and Astoria at the forefront. There is unimaginable noise around me, my head is humming.

I look around, there aren't any red-golden scarved anywhere.

There's no Granger around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter #9, here it goes.  
> I'll be honest: this is worst of all my chapters. I've kind of lost my mood in writing this, but well - I kind of needed to write this, to show how Draco's not going to get anything he really wants, that he's not going to see his dreams coming true. It's tragic, I know, and I feel I needed to write it and show it.  
> Hope it's enjoyable, sorry about the language issue. Thank you for all the Kudos and comments ^^. Also:  
> Yes, it'll be explained why Ron lied to Hermione.  
> Yes, the Ginny-Blaise situation will also be explained.


	10. I had you figured out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm always waiting.

Something is different.

Obviously everything in this castle is a little bit different after the war, including people, but it's not that. I enter the Great Hall and I feel it, something bad and unusal in the air. Something that isn't right.

Many Slytherins still have hangover after yesterday's party (these are legendary in the whole castle, especially after we win a match), and yet they have a strength to pat Blaise on shoulder and nod to me with approval, grinning. Can't say I appreciate or that Blaise notice: I don't care and he's not aware what's really going on. It took ages to take him from the bed and as soon as he sits up he pours himself three cups of coffee.

"Not too much, now?" Astoria comes over. "How are you, champions?"

I'd like to think of myself as a champion, but I can't. The atmosphere is...not right. My skin is inching more than usual, I can barely stand it, something's bothering me.

I look at her, at Nott sitting right next to her. "You tell me. You both all right?"

Astoria raises eyebrows, Nott squints. "Are you drunk this early in the morning?"

"We do not use that word from now on," Blaise murmurs. "Drunk. Do not say that."

"Not our fault you've got such a talent for getting awash," Theo growls at him, rolls his eyes. 

"Why wouldn't we be fine, Draco?" Astoria leans to me across the table, her face drawn with honest concern (adore her for that caring, I really do). "What's going on with you?"

There's the question I've been asking myself for the last few years.

No time for that now, though. I turn around, I look at Gryffindor table. It's Sunday, nothing's special about students appearing later at the breakfast, but now it's really late and I can't see Granger anywhere. True, it's easy to miss her since she's as short as a doll, but usually I'm able to see her in the moment she appears.

Why can't I do it now?

I can see Potter, talking to Weaselette, both emotional, it seems pretty serious, like a debate. Weasley is a few seats away, with other Gryffindor boys I don't know (except for Longbottom). There's no Granger in their table.

I'm watching Weasley: what the bloody bastard did now? I can't think of anything he could be angry with her, it's...

Oh. She went to the match.

Bloody hell.

I look at Weaselette: she stands up and kisses Potter on the cheek before she quickly walks away (Blaise doesn't have chances with that girl). I glance at him: he's watching her too, very carefully. He's literally observing her every move, every breath.

I take the cup from his hand, I drink all that's inside.

"What the hell?"

"Save it." I stand up and make him do that, too. I'm not going without him (I think I'm risking death if I'll go alone and it's not overstatement). "We're going."

"I didn't eat anything!" he protests, but doesn't do much about it, he just follows me.

"Where are you going?" Theo shouts after me, confused (and probably offendend he's excluded; not going to trust him that much, I'm afraid). "Draco!"

Sorry, Nott.

"Oi, Weasley!" It's hard to catch up with her, but we do. Blaise is already panicking, glaring at me like he's dreaming about hexing me with some nasty curse, but he doesn't say a word. 

And Weaselette stops. She turns around, glares at us both. "What you two snakes want from me?" She floats her wand, plays with it, flips from hand to hand casually. (Veiled threat: nice one, Weasley). "I'm armed, I should warn you."

"Afraid of us that much, sweetheart?" Blaise grins. Don't really know when and how he mastered himself and put perfect mask of nonchalance and calmness on his face, but somehow he managed. 

She squits at him, her wand stops in her right hand. "I'm warning you, Zabini."

"Where's Granger?" I ask shortly. I came to her with one thing and I'm going to end it as quickly as I can. (Why on Earth she came to the match? She neved did before, only if it was Slytherin vs. Gryffindor).

"Why should I tell you?" She raises her chin, crosses her arms, I can see this challenge in her eyes, calling 'Try me, I dare you'. No matter what I think of her she's this kind of person you don't want to mess with, no matter if you're the enemy, ally, friend, beloved one. She's able to turn anyone to the ash. (Can't understand why it attracts Blaise so much; think I'll never be able to understand that). "Why should I tell you this, ferret, after you specifically told her you're murderer who doesn't want a thing from her?"

Blaise glances at me really quickly; he's smart enough to not ask (at the moment).

(Ferret? Really? That's stepping far over the line, Weaselette).

I take a step closer, I leave Blaise behind. Weasley doesn't flich, however: she raises her head proudly to look me straight in the eye, she floats her wand as a warning (no need to, relax, Red). I lower my voice as I say, "This murderer is also the one who listened about your honorable brother when you weren't around, Weasley, so I suggest you just tell me what the hell is going on."

That's the soft spot and I know it is. She glares at me, but there are blushes on her cheeks; she know she wasn't there at the moment when Granger needed her (don't care she's got remorse, she wasn't there and Granger was so desperate she opened up to me). "And suddenly you're so caring about Muggle-borns, are you, Malfoy?"

I sigh, look up. "Merlin's beard, Weasley, I'm not going to—"

I stop. I'm not going to do...what, exactly? Hurt her? Embarrass her? I have to remember Blaise's with me and although he knows about Granger, I never directly told him that. I never confessed a thing, it's like we both pretend to believe he doesn't know.

"Not going to do what?" She shakes her head. "I'm not telling you anything, Malfoy. It's Hermione's concern what's going on with her. And just for the record: we all know you've got impure intentions, so how about you cut the crap and bugger off?"

She shocked me, I must say that.

I have no idea what to say (nothing but extremely rude scoffing, that is). I watch her as she turns from me and walks away.

I turn to Blaise. "What the hell are you seeing in her?" No matter how impressive she is, Weaselette is just one bloody maniac and extremely dangerous person.

Blaise smirks as he's watching her, walking away from us. "I'm surprised you don't see that, Draco. I'm puzzled nobody sees that."

I look at him cooly, I raise eyebrows. "Potter does," I remind him.

His smirk disappears and I don't want to see sadness in his eyes, so I just walk away. Not my concern? Very well. I'll just silently wait until Granger and Weasley kill each other in this relationship.

Because that's what I do as well. I'm waiting for something. Don't know for what exactly, but I know I'm always waiting. 

 

I'm struggling.

Should I find Granger? (She's probably hiding in the library, it's her kingdom and safe place). Have to admit, I'm curious why she appeared on the match. Cheering Ravenclaws? Yeah, right. Not likely, I refuse to believe that. She's never done that before.

But maybe she'll come to lunch? Or dinner? Should go to the Great Hall (now) to check that, but right now I'm just walking around, wondering what I should do to Weasley for being such a prick.

And Granger, obviously. Should I do anything for her? I've said some nasty things and yet she was there, watching me winnig the match. It's audacious of me, thinking she came for me - it's probably because of Blaise being so kind to her (what for, anyway? To get close to Weaselette?). Shame I burned that bridge and can't use his method. 

Or she just wanted to see me losing. Can't really blame her.

"Malfoy."

I haven't been there for a long time - in the corridors that lead to either Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's Tower (don't really know when I walked up here). There are few younger students around - and Potter. He's waiting for someone, leaning against the wall and playing with his wand. He sighs, he's tired and not at all happy to see me, but he must have some thing to talk about since he spoke.

Raise my eyebrows. "Potter. I'd say it's splendind to see you, but, you know—"

He rolls his eyes, I stop. No strength or desire to mock him today. I sigh. "All right. What do you want?"

"Your friend, Zabini," he tilts his head. "What's his thing about Ginny?"

I smirk (have to). "Can't you ask your own girlfriend?'

"No need to, I trust her," he replies calmly (suprising). "Ginny make friends with whoever she likes to, but it doesn't look like she wants to do anything with your friend." He shrugs. "Just let him know if he's planning to hurt her because of her being the blood traitor, as you call it, I will—"

"Making threats is not needed, Potter, relax now," I cut him off (not going to listen to him, threating my best friend; just made a huge mistake, Golden Boy). "Don't be such a—"

"He just needs to let it go, Gin's been complaining and I don't want to star a fight before kindly—"

"What now, Potter?" I frown, cutting him off again.

He sighs, but I keep going. "I'd like to believe that's simply misunderstanding—"

Shouts. It sounds like NO WAY, but it's so stumbled I can't really tell. But I know it's female voice from upstairs. (Granger?)

I look at ceiling, then back at Potter, eyebrows raised at him again. He sighs. "Not your concern, Malfoy."

"Troubles in paradise?"

"And what else did you expect, after inviting her to the match?" He rolls his eyes.

Not that I'm going to tell that to Potter, obviously.

"Oh, well, in that case—" I shrug. "It's been nice chatting with you, Potter."

He knows I'm mocking, but is kind enough to not roll his eyes. "As usual, Malfoy." He nods his head as I walk away, and I do the same. Good to know we're both well-bred (prefer not to comper myself to Potter though, definitely not).

I know where the dorms for Head Boy and Girl are (visited one Head Girl in there once). It's pretty hard, though, seeing all the suspicious faces (what Draco Malfoy is doing here, what is he plotting now? Should I tell Harry Potter about that?), but why would I care? Never did, never will.

They're all afraid of you, Pansy said, not that long ago; just at the beginning of the September. Yes, I suppose she's right, this one time she is.

I don't know the password so I could walk in. I look at the face of the serious statue, I sigh. "Gryffindor wins? Widsom and greatness? Bravery is the key to—"

The statue moves away as Granger stands on the threshold of the room, just a three of fours feets from me (Close, close, close; too close, too away, move away, move closer, what do I do?).

She looks at me, raises eyebrows. "Bravery is the key? Seriously, Malfoy?"

Not funny at all, I'm not laughing and neither is she. It's because her red cheecks, puffy eyes - there's no shine in them. As if she's fallen. (She hasn't, not Granger).

"Granger," hands in my pockets (usual), wry smirk. "Well, well, just look at you. Aren't you so joyous today?"

She snorts, rolls her eyes, little smile that disappears before I can convice myself I really saw it. "What do you want, Malfoy? Or rather: what would I want to see a murderer at my door?"

Ouch.

(Why on Earth was I so harsh to her, what temped me? I thought what, she'll just forget my words?).

I say the first thing that comes to my mind. "Bumped into Weasley today." I see her face getting pale, her eyes getting wide. Smirk again. "I meant your friend, not your boyfriend."

She breaths, relieved, then glares at me. "You said it on purpose, just to scare me."

"Scare you? I thought I'd make you angry, at least half of Hogwarts could hear your quarrel a few minutes ago."

"And you came to glory?"she shakes her hades. "I'm really not in the mood right now, Malfoy."

"I can see that." I look at her more closely, because I really can see that.

Her hair is dishevelled - it was tied, I think, but now this is just bunch of curls, each one in another direction. She's tired like she didn't had any sleep last night, they are dark circles under her eyes. Has she eaten at all today? She seems so fragile, like she could just break any moment now (she can't, she won't, she's bloody warrior after all).

"What about Ginny? What were you saying?" she asks calmly, but glances at the corridor behind me from time to time, worried. (Wants to get rid of me as soon as possible or is she afraid Weasley will see me? What happens if he will? She doesn't seem afraid). 

"Bumped into Potter as well," why am I talking? Most importantly: what am I even talking about? Why I came here, to pretend to be a hero after I told her I'm a murderer by choice? "It looks like your friend is giving Blaise hell of the time. And also—"

"Why was I on the match?" she sighs. "I'm really not in the mood nor have time for this, Malfoy. And it seems to me Blaise is the one interfering in Ginny's life."

Really want to know the real reason she was on the match; but this may not be the best time though, I should just leave her. She's distaster today, she looks exhausted. But it seems like I'm not able to shut up and walk away, what I should definitely do. What I definitely want to do, I'm dreaming about walking away. (Why can't I, for Merlin's sake? What is wrong with me?).

I look at her face, so petite and pale right now. "He got angry you were on that match?"

"None of your business, Malfoy," she huffs. "You made it all clear last time, so would you mind—"

She rolls her eyes, I can see iris of her eyes practically disappear and then she collapses, fainted.

Fuck. 

"Granger!" I'm not fast enough to catch her before she hits the ground (of course I'm not; was I ever fast enough?), but I'm next to her in one second and before I realize what I'm doing my arms just move, they're gently grabbing her and here I am, standing in Granger's dormitory, with her in my arms. She's breathing heavily and she's so...tiny. She's light like a child, like a real doll. (Has she eaten? Why there was a quarrel again?).

I sigh heavily. No idea why I came to her, shouldn't have: it was the worst idea in this...well, not year, but month will do. And here I am, pretending to be a hero I'm never going to be.

I look at her face, at her closed eyes. Sigh again.

Granger. What am I going to do with you now?

 

"Malfoy."

I look up, raise my eyebrow. Smile is pushing on my lips, but I don't let it come (she's waken up, Merlin be blessed). "Granger."

No way I was taking her to te Hospital Wing. So the whole school would see us, including Weasel, who would get furious with her again, and his sister, who would hex for my 'impure intentions'? Not going to happen. Couldn't leave her either (because I'm weak, I'm a constant disappointment, I can't even control myself), so I was just...waiting.

I'm always waiting.

There's a food for her, too. I'm not going to let her starve herself while I'm around, I'd be accused for (another) murder; and had to see her dying, which is something (I think) I wouldn't be able to handle.

She looks at me and she's flooding with tears.(Oh, for God's sake, Granger).

Never liked being around crying people, never knew what to do. At first (as a child)I was confused, but later I became annoyed or vexed if anyone started crying in my presence. On third year Pansy bursted into tears and I just left her crying, no idea what to do (Blaise kept reminding me that for the next year, laughing himself to actual tears). I never knew how to comfort people and stop feeling irritated. 

God, but it's different. It's Granger.

Doesn't change the fact I have no idea what should I do. I'm not going to turn around or just keep looking at her, and as I said, I won't leave her. (I'm not able to leave her, I'm too weak for that, I'm always weak). 

I slowly get up, I come to the sofa she's lying on (didn't dare to take her to her bedroom). I crouch beside her, I'm petrified. I sigh. "Granger, it's not—"

"Shut up." She turns around, her hands around her mouth: she's trying to stay quiet, but she can't stop the sobbing. She's crying really hard, having problem with catching her breath. 

Didn't assume she would be that emotional and burst into tears like that. Not at all like I imagined Granger, but why am I surprised? She loves Weasley.

I conjure up some tissues (I'm a bloody wizard after all), I hand it to her without even looking at her (better for both of us). I keep looking at the door and I flinch when she takes tissues from me. With the corner of my eye, I can see her washing her face, sniffling (probably the saddest thing I've ever heard; I'm so sorry, Granger).

Have to say something. "I won't tell anyone about it." I told her embarrassing her is not fun anymore. It never was, but now I'm just not going to do that. I just stopped.

She blows her nose. "Good to know." Her voice is hoarse and weak and quiet.

"You want me to go for someone? Potter or Weasley or—"

"If I said 'yes', would you actually go?"

I glance at her, she's watching me mockingly. 

Oh, right. What am I doing? Confusing her even more, obviously. What a bloody moron I am.

I shrug. "Perhaps. Once I got bored."

She snorts, "Right. Knew that." She takes another tissue, her whole face is swollen now. She looks like the saddest person I've ever seen. 

I nod, look away again. "Hungry?" You look like you haven't eaten all day and I don't want you to starve on my watch. Can't look at you at this state. Eat something, would you?

"Tired." Laconic response, I'm the last person she wants to talk to (hard to be surprised). "You've got a potion, perhaps?"

"It's not Disneyland, Granger," I say. "Just go to sleep, you'll succeed in a minute, I believe."

"Draco Malfoy pretending he knows what Disneyland is," she grunts as she turns away from me, she reaches for the blanket and in a minute she looks like she's in cocoon (adorable). "Hilarious."

I have to say I'm tired, too. Tired from emotions: usually I don't feel so many of them in such a short time; not intense ones, at least. And now I did and I honestly feel exhausted. But for this one hour or two or three I'm her guardiuan and I have to keep my eye on her. She hasn't eaten today; have to make sure she'll eat something as she wakes up (have to do that until some of her friends will appear, Weaselette or Potter) and I can't leave.

I take my place in the armchair. I watch her like I usually do.

She's beautiful. She's so pretty, with her big brown eyes of a doe, light curls surronding her symetric face. She's small, but she's beautiful and she smells nicely, like roses. And her smile - how come Blaise made her smile? 

But she's not smiling and neither am I (I almost never smile nowadays). She's sleeping because she's exhausted, Weasley made her that way, and I'm sleeping, too, dreaming of her like I often do (hate myself so so so much).

I don't know how or when I fell asleep and I also don't know what woke me up, but I'm awake, straighten up in this uncomfortable armchair, looking around. But nobody's there but me and Granger, so what's the noise that woke me up? Somebody's in front of the statue? If it's Weaselette I can just leave Granger under her best friend's protection and I can leave, I will be gone (want to be) and I'll forget about it. Hopefully, Granger will just think I was a hallucination.

She screams.

She's screaming so badly I think for a moment we're both in Malfoy Manor again: she's on my floor, being tortured, and she's crying and screaming in unimaginable agony and she just can't stop, she's just...

She's there. She's there and she's safe and nobody's torturing her, making her feel the agony she felt back then. She's safe in here and no one is going to hurt her. (Physically).

I run to her, I'm next to her, near her head. I grab her arms, I shake her gently. "Granger. Granger! Merlin's beard, wake up!"

She's screaming. Screaming screaming screaming.

And then she's not.

She stops. She opens her eyes gustily and immediately straightens up, breathing like she just emerged from the water, trying to catch her breath. She's watching blanket on her knees like she doesn't believe it's real and she looks up at me.

I expect she's going to flinch and move away, but she doesn't. She takes a deep breath. "Malfoy."

Can't smirk now. "It's all right, Granger, you're not there anymore."

She lean against the sofa, I can see droplets of sweat just below her hairline. She's shaken, a little bit shocked. "I was screaming."

"A little bit." I'm still on my kness on that bloody carpet.

"You woke me up," she squints lightly. "Why would you do that?"

So suspicious. "Your screams made my head hurt, had to stop those."

She rolls her eyes...and then she smiles. Lightly, reluctantly, but she does. "Thank you."

No idea how to response. Shrug. "You owe me, Granger."

She frowns and I smirk at her (I'm just joking, little one). I move away, but I'm still on carpet, I'm not going back to where I was sleeping.

"I thought you'd be gone by now," she says, still frowning.

"Well, can't really let you faint again, can I?" God, I'm such a disaster. "Go back to sleep, Granger."

"You're such a weird man, Malfoy," she murmurs as she lays back down.

"Look who's talking, Granger."

She snorts and turns to me, looks at me, curls on the pillow.

I lean against coffee table, raise my eyebrows at her. I'm so tired, feel like I'm bearing something really heavy; it's strange feeling. "What now, Granger? You want me to tell you a bedtime story?"

She glares at me. "You stayed," she says in so judging voice she might as well said about me killing someone. 

"It seems I did," I shrug. What's the big deal again? Grager has no equals in fussing around, really. "Sleep, Granger, I mean it." Too soft. "You woke up both of us."

She winces and turns away. "You're really that naive, Malfoy?"

"Pardon?" Does she have a fever? (Please, no).

"No point in adding those harsh words, hoping I will fall for that," she says. "No point in pretending someone else since I can see you."

"You're talking nonsense, Granger, I believe it's from the fatigue," I tell her. "Now go back to sleep, for God's sake." My voice is cold again.

She snorts. "Yeah, right. Whatever you want to tell yourself, Malfoy."

She falls asleep in the next minute. After a very brief moment I can hear her breathing, static and sure. She's sleeping. (Hope without nightmares this time).

I can't stay. Every move is harder than the previous one, but I just have to leave, even though everything in me is in riot. She knows too much now, she can't know...well. She can't know what's going on in my head: and it seems like she's pretty good at observing me and drawing conclusions. 

I don't wish for her to know the real Draco Malfoy, to know the truth. That's the worst thing I could do to her, actually, which means I have to leave her alone for good, without coming to her dormitory (how stupid I was to do that?) or talking to her. 

I really am a bloody moron. 

I look at her, but she doesn't seem to be in a pain or have a fever. I don't know what happened between her and Weasley this time, but I don't want to know. None of my concern, indeed. I'll leave it to her: I already said everything I intented to, I believe she can handle this.

I watch her as she's sleeping, innocent and sweet and beautiful. Everything I wanted since I saw her and nothing I deserve.

"I'm sorry," I tell her quietly. She's asleep and can't hear me, and very well. "I'm so sorry." About everything. I really am.

I leave her like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter #10!  
> Love your Kudos and comments. Thank you all very very much for them, you guys are really extremely kind; I'm not offended by some criticism, by the way. It's all good.  
> Situation between Blaise and Ginny will be figured out and explained soon enough, in next chapters :) Promise.


	11. Can't turn back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like I always am.

I can't harm her more than I already did.

She must be so confused right now. I'm hoping (praying, almost) she forgot about everything or she found it just a dream, but it's unlikely to be true: it's Granger, stubborn, smart and inquiring Granger. It's been a few days and she hasn't come to me to talk about it yet, but I know she will and I'm not at all prepared.

I don't even know what I'm doing anymore, but I know I have to leave her alone. It's her life, her concern. She can break away from Weasley and be herself again, it's not my problem if she refuses to. Also: it seems like I'm teasing and playing, making her question my every glance, smirk, word. She's Granger, I know she analyzes everything. I don't want to put more mess into that bushy, brilliant head. I'm not that kind of monster and I'm aware Granger deserves peace now, peace and calm. I can promise I'll give her that. I succeeded in staying away from her for seven years. Is less than a year really that hard job? 

I stop as I reach my aim, lean against the wall. It was diffcult to convince Blaise to leave me, but I told him to find Nott before he loses himself in those books (he's taking serious care of NEWTs) and I need to go alone. He rarely understands the term 'alone' (or rather, he prefers to think it includes him and me both), but he let go this one time (strange; he argued with me for just a few minutes, it's really short time). I hope he didn't go to see Weaselette, it would be a distaster. He'd be even greater fool than I am, and that's something.

I'm fighting my smile - in addition to Granger, Astoria is probably the only girl who can make me smile so easily. She's not Granger, she could never be, but still: watching her happy face makes me feel all right. It's good to know she's happy, it brings a little bit of peace to my mind.

And she is happy. She's chatting with her friends, laughing, and when she leaves them there's still broad smile on her face. I'm proud of her, I really am. She's been through some horrible things as well, and yet she managed to stay sweet and kind. She's an amazing ray of joy, always leading me. Literally like a family to me: good I'm happy for her, it means I'm still human inside (the only prove I've got).

She stops abruptly as she sees me. "What on Earth are you doing here?"

"Glad to see you too," I smirk. "Good thing I convinced Blaise to stay, he'd feel really offended by greeting like that."

"You two are such morons," she says and she laughs, coming up to me. "I haven't seen you in few days now, you arsehole!" 

"Sorry about that." I lean down, kiss her cheek very quickly, she tries to mess with my hair. I move away very quickly (she's quick too, like a real snake). "Careful there, young lady."

She huffs. "Save it. How did you know where to find me?" She's going forward and I'm coming with her, I know she's going to come down to the common room.

"I've got my sources," I say, but she gives me this one look and I know I won't make her fall for that. Roll my eyes. "Daphne told me you wanted to talk to me. And told me where you are."

"Really? Just like that?" Astoria raises her eyebrow, doesn't believe me (I wouldn't believe it, too). "Didn't want anything in return?"

"Of course she did, but Pansy is on my every call and your sister is nothing but a dog on her leash." 

She laughs, looking amused (no surprise.) "True, I must say that."

"Well, what did you want to talk about?" Have to admit I'm really curious. "Because if you want a date if me, I have to warn you—"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I wouldn't go out with you even if you were the last man remaining on earth," she says (ouch). "I want to talk about Hermione Granger."

Hermione Jean Granger. Obviously you want to talk about her, Astoria. I'm only slightly surprised.

Glance at her with corner of my eye. "What about her?"

"You two've been talking lately. And I know that you've been desperately trying to stay away from her for—how long now? Seven year, is that it?"

"Let it be, Astoria," I say. I'm not usually cold and distant with her, but this is the subject I'm not talking about (person I'm never talking about with anyone). "It's not—"

"If it's not me who you'll to talk about this with, then who?"

I shrug. "Isn't it obvious? Nobody, of course."

"Come now, Draco. You need to talk to me—especially about her. It's like there's something under your skin, bothering you." She stops, bites her lip, thinking...and then goes for it. "Like you're in pain."

I'm not in any kind of pain anymore (if anything, it's only this dull feeling which I'm not worrying about), but Astoria used the right words (she always does). Like there's something under my skin - yes, very much indeed. It's Hermione bloody Granger.

Roll my eyes (did I ask for chit-chat about feelings? Don't think so). "I'm messing with her head, confusing her. I'm leaving her the hell alone, since her problems are none of my concern."

"Just like that?" Astoria frowns. "Did Weasley tell you something, or—"

"Because I'm the kind of person that would take an opinion from this kind of weasel." Roll my eyes and just then look at her, because she needs to understand (she's the only one that will). "It's my decision and we both know why I made it."

She nods briefly and smiles faintly. "I believe it's the right one, Draco."

I know it is. And I'm going to keep reminding myself about it.

I go forward again. "Is this all you wanted to talk about? Really? Such a disappointment."

"Don't be harsh, Malfoy, it's—"

It's Granger.

No, I'm not hallucinating, it actually is Granger.

She appears from behind the wall and I just know it's her. I would recognize her everywhere - this tiny figure, those pretty curls falling on her shoulders and this fierce, bold look: this one can't be mistaken for any other.

I slow down my pace when I see her (can't control it), my hands just find their way to my pockets. Astoria looks at me with the corner of my eye (smiles under her breath or is it just an illusion?). "You have the opportunity to tell her", she mumbles.

"Yeah," I manage to say quietly.

Don't what to do more harm to her. It's for her own good, I remember that.

But perhaps she's not coming to me. I nod my head as she gets closer. "Granger."

She looks taken over, very. She stops. "Malfoy. Hello, Greengrass."

She stopped, so she does want to talk. Lord, save me.

I turn to Astoria, I try to look as agreeably as I can manage. "I'll see you later, Ria." My voice was probably never this warm (was often imagining I'm using it while talking to Granger, but never did it and never going to).

Astoria glances at me suspiciously..and then she smiles lovingly. "Of course, Draco."

She walks away. I'm watching her as she does so, not taking my eyes from her back until she disappears; just then I glance at Granger, pretending bored. Lean against the wall. "What's new, Granger? Looking better, I see."

"Actually feeling better, Malfoy," she glances over her shoulder. "Astoria Greengrass, was she?"

"Nothing like her sister, must assure you." I'm not going to stay here for the chat; I made clear I'm fond of Astoria (not exactly a lie, I love her like a family in my own way, I think) and that's enough. "What are you doing here, Granger? It's pretty away from Gryffindor Tower."

"I broke up with Ron."

I look up. For a moment, I'm sure there's no mask; I have to blink very quickly and get over myself, look at her cooly again and just hope she didn't see that one second when I was completely shocked. 

Did not expect that at all. Suspected (hoped) it would happen sooner or later, but I bet it would be 'later'. It didn't look like Granger was going to break out in the near future.

And yet here she is now. 

It's strange, though. Granger looks embarrassed. "I meant—we've broken up," she murmurs as she blushes.

"I heard the first version, Granger," I tell her. "Congratulations, but it's none of my concern."

She looks up into my eyes, raises eyebrows. "After repeating it to you over and over you finally realized it—now?"

I shrug (don't care, I don't care, I'm not happy she's finally free at all. Want to ask how did he take it, but I don't. None of my concern). "Yes, I realized your relationship problems aren't mine to worry about." 

(I hope they won't get back together).

"Well, it's good," she crosses her arms. "About weekend, Malfoy, when you stayed—"

"Didn't want to be accused of 'impure intentions', as your friend Weasley politely put it," I inform her. "Don't kid yourself, Granger. You were talking nonsense, remember?"

"No, not really. I remember you pretending again, though."

Roll my eyes. "For God's sake, Granger. Yes, I stayed with you, but if you're dreaming about repetition I must disappoint you: my fiancée let it happen once, doubt she'll let it happen again."

"I don't need a guardian, Malfoy," she hisses at me like an angry cat (hot). "Your fiancée, huh? Who was that much desperate, do tell."

"You've met her," I point behind her back. "The one and only Astoria Greengrass."

What a perfect lie. It's easy to believe that (point for me), but I hope Astoria won't kill me for that. 

I watch Granger closely. She's confused, bites her lower lip for a second and then she lets go. She looks away, clears her throat. "She seems nice. She wasn't at the practice that day."

"No, she wasn't. She doesn't—" I stop, because I don't own her an explanation. I sigh. "Congrulations about you breaking free." 

"What?" she looks up at me, frowning.

(Disaster. I'm a complete arse and disaster).

"Why did you come here, Granger? To tell me about Weasley?"

"No, actually. I've got a question for you."

(Is she closer to me than she was a few seconds earlier? Did she got closer to me? Didn't notice it, but she's so small and I'm so tall and she's so close, just a few feet away. It's close enough for me to feel insecure, I want to be closer and I want to be away).

"Will I invite you to the wedding?" I ask.

She snorts. "Yeah, right, that's my biggest dream. No, my question makes much more sense, Malfoy: why did you start talking to me at all? I just want you to tell me why would you want to interfere in muggle-born's life and giving her advices about her goddamn relationship. Were you that bored? Do tell, I'm really curious."

Oh, I believe she is. Another question she can't find answer for and it's practically driving her insane.

I sigh. Must tell her something so she would have a little bit of peace in her mind finally.

Because I was searching for fun and entertainment and that's what I would have, watching drama in your relationship (wrong).

Because you weren't yourself since I saw you at the beginning of September, you were like a ghost, you were miserable. And I just couldn't leave you. I managed to stay away for seven years but it looks like it became harder work now and I failed a few times (correct).

I don't know what I am or what I'm doing anymore, I just don't know what's happening in my head. She's got enough on her plate already, why did I—

"Look, Granger, it's—" It seems strange and it is strange, I know, I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm sorry. "I didn't mean to—" Confuse you even more and make you talk to the former Death Eater.

Can't tell I didn't want to be a Death Eater at all: it was a death mission, it was a mission to save my parents' life and I knew it. I was chosen to be punishment of my father and subconsciously I always knew that.

I want to tell her all of this so badly, but I can't. I can't.

"No, Malfoy, that's all right," she says so casually it almost hurts. "I didn't forget you were a Death Eater, don't you worry. It's the very reason why I can figure out what the hell are you doing because of your boredom."

"It's not boredom," I growl cooly (does she think I'm that kind of insane?). "Good to know you haven't forget about that, Granger, because you're acting like you have."

"It's hard to forget about that, actually," she snorts, raising her chin proudly. "It's carved on my arm."

"I know, I was there," I growl way sharper than I intented.

She looks at me, surprised, and I move away. I want to be close to her and touch her so badly and listen to her and fight with her and kiss her but I can't.

I point at her forearm just when I'm calm again. "It doesn't mean anything," I say quietly. "Just how you managed to survive, nothing more."

She clears her throat, looking nervous. "What yours means, then?"

"How I chose to survive, obviously." Why are we still talking? We shouldn't, I shouldn't be here with her. "I'm sorry, Granger."

"For being a Death Eater? For my scar?" She looks up at me with so much anger. "A bit too late for that, don't you think?"

(How come I made her this angry? Why, when?)

"Perhaps a little bit, yes," I shrug. "I'll get going to Astoria. Enjoy single life, Granger."

"Congratulations on your betrothal, Malfoy," she mumbles. Slowly and reluctantly, I move away from wall, I pass her by (it hurts me; why?). "Treat her well, would you?"

I glance at her over my shoulder, but she doesn't look back at me. She seems so tiny. 

"I intend to do so, Granger, no need to worry." Her caring about someone she doesn't even know is so weird and so touching that it makes me want to put my arms around her. 

"I don't."

Looks like there's nothing left to say, then. 

I nod briefly, but only once. "Good."

And then I walk away as I always do. And I'm sorry, like I always am.

 

"We're going to Hogsmeade!"

I lazily look up. No jokes now, NEWTs are becoming serious and I'm truly horrified when I look at those textbooks, have to do something about it; which I find quite difficult, since my best friend is acting like one drunk, mental prat. "It's not the end of the week yet, Zab."

"Don't care. We're going to Hogsmeade today or tomorrow or day after tomorrow. Or we'll just get drunk in here!"

"No no no, no getting drunk now." I hurry towards the liquor cabinet and block Blaise's way to it, grab his arms and make him look at me. He looks clear, though. "What's gotten into you now, what happened?"

"Why would anything happened?" He moves away, falls on his bed. "Can't I just wish for one or two drinks?"

"The last time you got drunk without a reason was because of Weasley," I point out. "What happened now?"

Blaise groans, covers his face with a pillow. "And those girls in our House keep telling you're smart. If you really are, Draco, then draw some conclusions, how does that sound?"

No need to be a genius, I guess (and nowhere to go but up). I lean against that goddamn cabinet (I feel sudden need to use it) and I sigh. "Weasley again."

"Weasley again, yes indeed."

I groan with frustation, I want to hex him, I feel anger running in my veins, making me want to explode. "You bloody idiot. What were you thinking? That you and her will make fool of Potter and he'll—"

"We didn't make a fool of anyone because she didn't agree!" He straightens up and screams, he looks at me with flames in his eyes, like a furious animal from which anger is pouring all around. "I felt guilty and I wanted to help her and then was something about her, I don't know, I didn't want her just in my bed anymore, and there was some talking and me driving her mad with anger, and, you know, negative emotions are better than no emotions at all and it give me hope, I guess, this kind of hope we were always giving girls, remember?"

I remember. This is the exact kind of hope I've been giving Pansy for the past few years. (Blaise, what have you done?).

"Yeah, I remember."

"Yeah, well, it's all over now. No chance for a relationship with her, for being in something real for the first time." He falls back on his bed. "She made it clear today. 'Fighting with you was quite amusing, Zabini, but it's over now'. She thought—well, I don't know what she thought, but she never planned leaving Potter." He's silent for a brief moment. "He's her one true love."

Surprise, surprise. I don't want to make him worse than he already is, but honestly, what was he expecting? She's Potter's girlfriend, she's mean and she's living fire, burning everyone that she doesn't like from the first sight. How could he expect another result? They're the Golden Couple, Potter and Weasley. She would never leave, it was so obvious and I had no idea why he was so attracted to her. It's not like she was giving him any signals, any hope. 

I clear my throat, I try my best in being supporting (difficult job). "She told you that?"

"Straight to my face. She loves him, she always have and she always will. She would never leave him, for nothing in the world." He lets out a chipped laugh. "Foreseeable, wasn't it?"

Unbelievable. The very first time when Blaise felt guilt and wanted to do something with the girl, she turned him down and refused to have anything to do with him. How come that happened?

"I'm afraid it was." Not really helpful, am I? "You'll be fine."

Blaise sits up, look at me with huge tiredness in his eyes, like he woke up from a terrible dream that's been lasting for way too long. "Come with me to Hogsmeade, would you?"

Can't refuse even if I wanted to: someone has to keep an eye on him. "I will, but not today, Zab. Try and relax, how does that sound?"

"Relax?" he scoffs. "I'm not going to sit idly, my friend." He gets up, he's marching toward the door, dermination in his every step.

"Where the hell are you going?" Sudden change out of nowhere? He looked like a beaten kitten a minut ago.

"Visit Davies!" he shouts before he slams the door with such a strength I'm surprised he didn't completely destroy it.

Hard to be angry with him: to make to Granger clear I'm not going to do anything with her, I lied to her about being engaged. And Blaise, well - she's going to use Davies to forget about all of this mess he got himself into. 

I'm not sure if I know what's going on anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thereeee we go!  
> Must warn you, it's not over with Blaise's storyline about Ginny; Draco's not going to leave it like that, but I think I made some things clearer, no? He didn't have bad intentions, but Ginny could never be friends with Death Eater and would never leave Harry: we're clear like that. Why didn't she beat Blaise or hex him or go to Harry or something like that - well, you'll see.   
> No hate, please :) And thank you for the Kudos, you're all the best


	12. All I wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think my heart is just going to burst if I'll ever be apart from her again.

Blaise is a goddamn disaster.

I knew I shouldn't have let him out of my sight for even one minute, but I didn't expect such irresponsibility from him - no matter how he acts, he's still been a soldier, a Death Eater fighting for his own (and mine as well) life be my side, desperately trying to stay alive. He's not childlish (it's easy to forget about that, even for me, but he's really not) and definitely not stupid either, and yet he's acting like a stupid child. Can't I even use a goddamn restroom?

"Blaise," I shoot with my fingers right in front of his eyes (he doesn't see me). "Zabini!" I raise my voice, I slap my hand on the table and just then I catch his attention.

He looks at me, lightens up with a bright smile. "Draco! There you are, thought you left me for good."

Since he's talking rather expressly, it's not that bad sign: even though when I was leaving he was after three drinks only and now there's four more empty glasses on the table: it's going to hit his head really hard any minute now.

I'm furious.

"Get your shit together, for God's sake," I hiss as I lean down. "I left you for five damn minutes! How did you even manage to get so many drinks?"

He shrugs, still smiling happily. "Rosmerta give it to me. We made a deal before we came here tonight—not me and you, I mean, I mean me and Rosmerta, obviously."

Could have expected that. Madam Rosmerte is still not really fond of me for what I did to her year ago. Didn't expect her alliancing with Blaise, though. That's surprising one.

I'm trying to remain calm (hell knows what drunk Blaise will do when I shout at him; I do that too rarely to know). "That's seven drinks, Blaise. Strong ones. You want to get awash so badly, you prat?"

"No insults, please," he says slurred, pointing a finger at me. "I needed this."

Roll my eyes. "Why? Because some girl you wanted to get laid with dumped you?" Must admit: it only proves Weaselette is not stupid at all (she's still a shrew, though).

"I didn't want just to—you know—dammit!" Blaise slams his hand on the table, the glasses sing. "I need another drink."

"You've definitely got enough of those." Can't believe Theo actually didn't want to come with us. He claims he's not our babysitter and he doesn't understand neither me nor Blaise the way we do with each other (not surprising, I've known Blaise since I was five years old) and I can see that, but he could sacrifice himself one more time and be here. I have no idea how to get Blaise back to the castle completely on my own.

I sit next to him, sighing. It's pathetic, really, that I need to be his babysitter because of such ridiculousness. "Get over it, Blaise, I mean it. You're acting like some weakling, like Weasel, even."

He gasps, clatches his chest. "You wound me, Draco, you really do! Should I tell everyone here how much of a bastard you are?"

"You can try," I murmur. All the people in Hogwarts and Hogsmeade already know, there's no point (there almost never is). "All right, you got drunk. Really drunk."

He chuckles. "Hell yes I did."

"Happy now?"

"Oh, I am. I am, I am, I am so much!" he sings (please, no). "Love this feeling so goddamn much! Missed it. That night when we both were awash—"

"Was one of the worst ones in my entire life," I assure him. I remember this cold shower: Astoria can be one malicious being. "You've got what you wanted, now we're going back to school."

"With McFerocious in every corner? No way in hell," he laughs out loud, really amused (I'm not; what a moron he is right now, truly). "I'm good here, I'm staying here. I'm not leaving."

"Yes you are," he's acting like a child right now and I've got no idea what to do with him. I intented to keep my eye on him whole night, not letting him get himself to such a state. Again, I can be only agry with myself. (And with Blaise, too: why would he even want to get that drunk?).

What do I do? Cast a Levicorpus on him? Not sure that'll work, he may be shouting a little or calling me names or...

Why do I always have such bad luck? (Know I deserve it, but still: is this really necessary every goddamn time?).

I look up as the doors open and there she is, wrapped in a thick winter coat, long boots and a wool cap. Her cheeks and nose are lovely red from the cold, her hair is charmingly disheveled, there are snowflakes on her head. She looks like some winter princess. (Oh, get over yourself, Malfoy).

She looks around, doesn't see me (I always see her and she never sees me, that's the way it works), turns to Weaselette she came here with. Redhead grabs her arms, tells her something with impish smile; it looks like she's convicing her to something (to stay? To drink something? To flirt, have fun? Granger is after break up, after all).

Weaselette sees us and her face changes radicaly in just one second. She grimaces and frowns, her eyes shining with contempt, then turns Granger around towards the door. Can't hear them, it's way too loud in here.

Granger looks over her shoulder straight at me. Her eyes wides up a little, but not because of me: she glances at me just for one second, carelessly, without any emotion on her face, ignoring me completely - her eyes moves to Blaise and she notices his state immediately. She looks horrified.

Can't really blame her, but she's also not my greatest prirorty right now (I guess it's the first time since I've known her). I turn to Blaise, I shake him strongly, grab his arm.

He feels it. "Ouch! You fawn ferret, stop—"

"We're going to the castle," I inform him. "Right now."

He wrinkles his nose with disgust. "But it's so cold out there, there's snow and wind and snowdrifts everywhere! Why would you want to go there?"

I want to punch him, I really do. I'm fighting with myself really hard to not do so. "Perhaps this will get you sober a little bit. We're going, Zab. Get your coat, I'm not going to dress you up."

"Why, Draco honey? That would be really interesting experience for both of us, I believe," he smiles.

I don't know if he's imitating Pansy or just being drunk, but I don't really wish to know. "Stand up. Coat, now. We're leaving."

"How dominivate," he murmurs and attempts to stand still; he hesitates and staggers while leaning on the table, with his legs shaking. He slowly straightens up and tries to move to reach his coat; after a moment, he succeedes. It's pretty hilarious to watch him, as long as he's silent. "Granger would've had one hell of a ride with you, I think."

Grab his arm (have to lead him). "Let's go, Zab. Nott is going to shout at you, it's going to be really great entertainment."

"Don't use difficult words," he says as we walk out. "They are, you know, pretty difficult—to understand. For me. You understand. Right?"

Drunk, childlish and idiot. Also known as my best friend.

I look at the empty and snow-covered street, but Granger's not there anymore. I make sure Blaise is not going to fall on the ice, though I know he will eventualy: and I'm going to fall just like him, unfortunately (Nott should really be here, doing the dirty work). "Come, Blaise. Try not to piss me off more than you already did, all right?"

"Anything for my dragon," he tries to touch my hair and almost falls.

It's going to be one hell of a ride indeed.

 

Knock to my door. Totally not in the mood to open up, I consider pretending I'm gone while I'm planning to visit Blaise; have to be mentally prepared for that, though.

"Draco, it's me."

The one (of two) people I just can't refuse to open. And so I do, and I see both of those two people.

Think I'm hallucinating at first. Is this really Granger standing next to Astoria, embarrassed and confused and insecure; blushing and looking around like she's scared? (I know she's not, but God, she's so tense right now).

"Granger here wanted to talk you, we've bumped into each other at the corridor," Astoria explains with her sweet, polite voice. I know Granger can hear it very clearly too, because when she's glancing at her, there's so much sympathy in her eyes. "So here we are. And I'm going to talk to you later—sweetheart."

This dangerous flash in her eyes, that steel tone at the last word. Oh, I forgot to tell her about my little lie and now she found out by Granger, probably. (Wonder if I'll live long enough to see the morning light).

Nod shortly, try to look warmly at her. "Sure thing, Ria."

When I move away and let Granger into my dormitory, she squints at me and speechlessly promises I'm going to pay for that little lie of mine.

"Oh, no, you don't need to leave," Granger says quickly (panicking? Could she, really?). "I'm just—"

"Relax, Granger, really," Astoria waves her hand carelessly. "Just—try not to kill him, would you? There are some people who would appreciate that very much."

"There are many people in that group," I add (have to). "See you later."

Close my door, turn to Granger. Try to be calm, bored, arrogant. Try not to panick, though my mind is trying to catch me into its trap. (Granger here, Granger in my dorm, standing next to my desk, near to my bed, in the middle of room, my dormitory, my room, she's here with me, she's here).

"I didn't want to come here," she assures me coldly, "nor I didn't want to talk to you in person. I just wanted to see how your friend is doing, that's all. I thought your fiancée might know and she told me—"

"Save it, Granger, I couldn't care less," I interrupt her, lean against the wall. There are furious blushes on her cheeks (she hates it when I cut her off like that). "But if you want to see Blaise, he's in Nott's dormitory, since Theo's the one taking care of him now."

She shakes her head, blushing even more (wonder if she's aware of that).

God, it's so damn hot in here. I know it's just the fact Granger is standing in my dorm, so close to me, but it's still overwhelming. And she looks so confused, unsure, like she's been caught in some kind of trap (didn't make any, not on her). She's adorable and beautiful and so, so close. (I think I'm going to embarrass myself if I don't figure something out really quickly).

"However it's so touching of you, caring that much about person you don't even really know," I add. I watch her biting her lip, looking away, hands moving nervously (for the first time, I have control; it's great, it really is, but my mind, my thoughts, it's a bloody trap on me, not on you, Granger). "Which leads to my question: why would you care?"

She shrugs, still not looking up at me. "He just didn't seem all right in the Hogsmeade, and—well, I wanted to clarify to both of you that Ginny can be harsh sometimes, but she has every right to be. And she loves Harry, every wizard and witch in the whole world knows that. Your friend—"

"Knew that very well and went for it anyway. He's a bloody moron," I finish.

Corners of her lips twitch slightly. "I wouldn't put it into the words like that, but—yes, basically. It's not Ginny's fault at all and if Blaise is using her as an excuse to get this drunk, well, I suggest you take him under control before Harry and I will be obligated to do something about it."

"Why?" It's strange. "Your friend doesn't give a damn for Blaise."

"And praise the great Merlin for that, really. He only annoyed her today."

"By being drunk? He may be a prat, but don't you dare, Granger—" I stop. I get Weaselette hates every Slytherin, every former Death Eater; I get it. But Granger seems so...relieved.

Don't know why, but I take a step closer. "Praise the Merlin for that? Why is that so? Would it be so horrible if she did give a damn?"

"Naturally. She doesn't need that kind of nonsense and she's aware of that." Granger sighs. She's not looking at me, she doesn't see how close to her I am (when did that happen exactly? I only took one step, I remember). "Your friend was kind to me, Malfoy, and he didn't seem all right today. I came to see if it changed. But make no mistake: he doesn't have a right to put Ginny as an excuse to get this awash. And he does, we both saw his glance today, you know? We're not blind. So if he ever does so again, Harry and I will—"

She looks up at me (finally), she gasps and falls silent immediately.

I don't really know how exactly it happened, but I'm just a one foot away from her, watching her, gazing. I see her every wrinkle, I hear her every breath (it's amazing, it's like a dream). She blushes, she's really red on her face right now, and really abashed. 

"Would caring for Slytherin be really that bad, Granger?" I ask quietly.

(What am I doing why am I doing this what the actual hell, Draco).

Granger seems to share my own thoughts. She frowns, takes a step back, look at me watchfully. She's really nervous and suspicious. "Why would you ask me question like that, Malfoy?"

Bloody good question.

I tilt my head, I watch her eyes running on the room (anywhere so she doesn't have to look at my face), I hear her very quick breathing (why so stressfull?). "You nervous, Granger?"

She snorts. "Just vigilant, Malfoy. In your presence it's impossible to do otherwise."

"Is that so? You seem practically scared to me." (Why am I doing this to her, what the hell is wrong with me?).

It's too late, I caught her (I got you now, Granger). It's like a pure instinct when she looks bravely at me, head raisen proudly, courage and fire on her face...and then she melts when she sees my eyes.

I'm not sure if I still have a mask, if I'm still pretending, playing (hope I am), but she must sees something in my eyes that makes her give up.

Her hands are in my hair and my hands are on her waist, she's pulling me closer and I'm holding her, not letting her go. It's the way it is and it's just happening, this is not a dream. I'm not dreaming at all, this time it's real.

It's bloody real.

She's like a rose, but she's not using her thorns to cut me this time, she's sweet. She tastes sweet, too: like creambeer and fruit and all that's sweet in the world.

I'm not sure if I'm able to catch my breath, if I'm even breathing anymore. I kiss her hard, strong, passionately - and she kisses me back, lets my tongue slip in, bites my lip.

It's not a dream and I'm not kissing Granger. I'm kissing with her, she's kissing me back and doesn't look like she intends to stop.

Very well, then.

I grab her gently, I raise her up and then she's all around me: her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist pulling me closer, not letting me go. (Good, Granger, I'm never going to let you go either: as long as you don't want to go, I'm not letting you).

We crash against the wall, it should probably hurt (me, her, both of us) but it doesn't. I've been with so many girls I can't even remember the right number, but it's never been so amazing. It's overwhelming, the feeling is in core of my every bone, it's around me and inside me, it's everywhere. And it's taking me to completely another place; I don't think I've been there before, I'm sure I haven't, but now I am and I don't want to leave. It's new, it's different, and I think my heart is just going to burst if I'll ever be apart from her again (I don't want to be apart from her ever again). My chest hurts, my head hurts and I'm not breathing, but I don't want it to stop. She got under me skin, she lives there now and very well - no need to go out, Granger, just stay in there, where you belong (with me). She's part of me now, she's practically my sun - and I don't wish to escape from her light. 

It seems like we just can't stop holding each other. Her hands: in my hair, they're combling and tangling each strand. Her legs around my hips, they keep me close, not letting me move away (don't want to, not going to). Her mouth on mine, she's whispering and finally I'm the only person who can understand her language. Her lips part, my tongue is between them, she sighs (it's good then, it's all good, I'm in the clouds).

I can't be away either, I just can't, I'm not strong enough (I'll never be strong enough to be away, I think). I'm making sure she doesn't fall (won't let her fall), my hands on her hips (she's so light and so slim, dear Lord). She's so sweet and so good, better than anything I deserve; better than anyone I ever known. I'm not able to stop kissing her, my lips are on hers and it's their home now. I've never felt safer or happier in my whole goddamn life. Never felt better. Let is last forever, please.

I kiss her harder and she sighs. And do it again - and she sighs once more. It's definitely the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. If I could listen to it every second of every day, I'm sure I would. If I was about to die after hearing this one more time - nothing to lose, I would decide on that. It would be good, I think, dying after hearing this. I don't think I would mind; no, I think I wouldn't mind at all, in fact.

I grab her harder, raise her up a little bit more. She's pressed again the wall and me and when I move, her sighs (sweet, little, quiet, perfectly innocent) turns into perfect, innocent, really quiet moan.

I stop.

Well, not exactly: can't stop. But it's like ice breaking to my head, sobering me abruptly. I slow down (was I too fast? Too bossy? Hope not). I slow down, it's gentler and slower, but then there's her tongue on my lower lip. (Dear Lord, I don't think I can handle it).

I'm a living fire, I think I really am: the fire burning so bright in her came over me, but I need to think. 

She's just after really hard, nasty break up. She doesn't trust me, she doesn't fancy me. She's just lost. She finds me attractive, probably (who wouldn't?), but she doesn't want...this.

I need to think. No matter how much it hurts, I need to think.

The last time I cried was four months ago, after a really rough nightmare. Now I think I just may, as I have to pull away: my lips leave hers, my head moves away (please, no, don't want to, I want to come back, I'm so pathetic).

Open my eyes really slowly, look at her. She's still hanging in the middle of the kiss: her lips parted, her eyelaids shut. She's blushing, she looks lovely, a little bit dishevelled on her hair, but still beautiful. (I can't, I can't, I'm too weak).

I'm a walking catastrophe, and so I do it: no excuse, I'm aware, but I lean to her and kiss her once more (have to, need to, just this one last kiss as a memory for me, please). It's gentle, I can barely feel it, but it's still there. Not a fire, but a nice flame, this one that can cause so much tears. (Hope I won't break before she leaves).

I move away slowly and so does she, slowly opens her eyes to look at me. She blinks...and then she realizes.

She's shocked, red on her face, I can see terror in her eyes really clearly (no causing pain, no no; it hurts I need to let her go). She clears her throat (she couldn't be more embarrased while I couldn't be more sad we're both quite disappinted in ourselves for very different reasons, I believe), tries to look confident and remain calm as she says very coldly, "Let me go, Malfoy."

(The last thing I want to do).

I let her go, just like that (that's what I do, isn't it? That's my job, that's what I owe her: letting her go).

I slowly help her stand, then remove my hands from her hips. Slip them into my pockets, watch her, wait for her words (waiting, waiting, waiting; always waiting).

I have to wait for a real while. She clears her throat again, fixes her clothes (though it's perfectly fine) and her hair (though they're going to be this bushy for now anyway), crosses arms on her chest. "Look, it's—"

"Nothing important," I interrupt her (I know what she's going to say and I don't want to hear it from her). "It's all right, Granger, really."

"No, it's—" she shakes her head and I don't interrupt this time (what does she want to say? It wasn't a mistake? She's sorry? It's nothing bad? Give me something, Granger, please). Looks toward the door, bites her lower lip nervously. "I should—"

Nothing to count on and nowhere to go, I guess.

"I'll give Blaise your words of comfort," I assure her.

"What?" she looks at me puzzled (doesn't she remember what were we talking about? That would be a little bit funny, though). "Oh, yes, right. Good. Very well, then." Clears her throat for he third time now. "I'll get going, then."

No apologies: from me nor from her.

Nod. "You'll find your way out, I believe."

(Ouch, not really nice; was I expecting she'd stay? I definitely wasn't, why am I even upset? Why would I care?).

"Have a good night, Malfoy."

(Is she joking? I won't be able to sleep tonight).

I turn around, don't want to watch her leave (can feel the pain starting in my chest). I hear the door open and then I hear them closing. She leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again, after those weeks of silence.  
> Now, to stop all the hate: please, don't write comments like 'Hermione would never act like that, she's rational and smart and would never let emotions rule her like that, she's way to intelligent for it!'   
> Yes, I agree. But here: she's after really hard break up, left a man who she thought she was in love with. She's young, adult woman after the war: she has evey right to be ruled by emotions. Being confused and frustrated, even she could just give up at the moment: especially if she saw in Draco something she'd never seen in Ron, don't you think? It's just my idea of their story, you guys. I love your questions and constructive criticism - but I don't love hate, all right? You're reading this, great. Even more great if you like it! If you don't, I understand; but please remember your and my opinions and ideas can be different. I'm trying my best in telling the story I wish was true for them.  
> Thank you for the Kudos, love ya


	13. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There might be a problem.

"Glad I can crash at your place this Christmas."

Had to say something. We couldn't be sitting in this strange silence for the rest of the journey and now there's just two of us. No better opportunity: once we get to Blaise's residence I'll have to do my best to stop him from murdering his mother's lover.

"No problem, you know my mother adores you," he says loftily, endless boredom in his voice. Looks at the window (it's dark outisde), not at me. "Don't expect you'll be seeing much of her, though. She'll be very busy, her newest one is some big fish in the Ministry, noble man, you see—and a real pussy, if you ask me."

It's quite funny phrase, but I'm not laughing. Blaise never got attention he wished for, which probably is the reason why he's constantly trying to get it from everyone else. Atmosphere in his house isn't really happy (never was) and I doubt his mother will adore me now, knowing I was a Death Eater.

Still better than Malfoy Manor. "I say we just survive through this," I suggest calmly, shrugging. When we were younger we used to piss the hell of every lover of Blaise's mother; such a shame we're older now. "It's better if we won't be seeing any of them, no?"

"Technically," he shrugs, way more carelessly than I did. "We're going to stop by the Malfoy Manor anyway, though. You're aware of that, aren't you?"

Sigh, turn my head away when he looks at me.

I'm aware, naturally, but it's the last thing I want to do. I'm going to anyway, just for my mother, but Malfoy Manor is the last place I want to visit. This building became a true nightmare after the war and I hate it with all my being. This is place of Dark Lord, of Death Eaters: filled with screams and blood and death. It's sound so pathetically cliché it's even hard to think about it, but wherever I look I can see people dying, I can see dark drops of their blood all around me. I can hear sobs and screams full of agony and each one of them belongs to Granger.

It's a dead place, a cenotaph. There's nothing for me left there. 

"Draco," steel appears in Blaise's voice.

"I'm aware," I reply coldly. Don't want to talk about it at all. "Doubt we'll be seeing your mother at all, you know? We've got things to do in London."

"And we obviously can't leave poor little Theo all alone," Blaise snorts (truth it might be good to visit Nott one time, but I'm thinking about Astoria: Christmas has always been horrible time for her). Just as he says it, the door opens. "Oh, speaking of the devil, look who's there! But funny enough, I don't recall calling after Parkinson, though."

"Save it, Zabini," Theo growls. But it's the truth: we certainly didn't ask for Pansy's presence and yet there she is, looking at me over Theo's shoulder: pale-faced and wide-eyed, like a scared rabbit.

It's Christmas, this one time a year when even I am trying to be an actual humain being. I nod to her. "Hello there, Pansy. Hungry?"

Nott raises his eyebrows, both surprised and suspicious at the same time, Blaise growls and swears under his breath (naively beliving I can't hear that). Pansy beams in one second, sends me light uśmiech. "Not really, Draco, no. But thank you." Sits down just next to me. "I just bumped into Nott, I—"

"No need to explain yourself in front of those two, Parkinson," Theo interrupts her with bored voice. He takes a chocolate frog, glances over Blaise for a long moment, as if he was suspecting him poisoning the sweet. "Why were you talking about me?"

"Aren't we always? You're the centre of my entire life, dear Theodore. " Blaise grins and Theo rolls his eyes. His got this face that screams 'I'm dealing with a child' but honestly, I believe I've got better right for that.

Not in the mood right now, though. I turn from them, I look at the window, and the endless night behind it. I'm trying not to think about Granger, whom I didn't see or talk to; not that I was going to. I'm trying not to think about Malfoy Manor either: I've never liked, but now I honestly despise it. How can you raise a child in a place like that, full of coldness and darkness? It's like being raised in some kind of abyss your whole damn life. If I could, I'd never go back there again: whenever I look, I don't see my father and his monologues about our family's pride (this is how it used to be), but I see Dark Lord and his snake, I see Death Eaters watching me as I'm becoming one of them, I see my aunt torturing so many souls, including the girl I—

"Draco! You all right?"

Look up immediately.

Pansy is impacient. Hard to be surprised, it's bloody freezing here. There's snow everywhere on her, she looks like a giant snowball. The only thing I can see clearly are her eyes, sparkling and not leaving my face. 

Concerned, as she always is. Sweet Pansy. No, not really: she's been a really mean beastie her whole life, but that makes both of us. 

I sigh. "What now?"

"It's just—you stopped talking and got really pale. I was wondering if you're all right."

Yes, she always is. Would be a lot better for her if she finally stopped, for God's sake. It's getting really uncomfortable for us both. "I'm fine. Just wondering what the hell is taking Zabini so long."

"Did he ever make it easy for you?" she smiles kindly. "He knows—well, visiting your parents can't be easy. Perhaps he just wants to—"

"Save it, Pansy." I just came by to talk to her about New Year's Eve, nothing important: just to kill time while Blaise is somewhere, inviting everyone to his party. I'm still not really good at Apparition and need Blaise to help me with it; unfortunately. Just a minute longer and I'll probably freeze to death. 

"I just want to wish you good luck."

Yeah, I'm gonna need this a lot.

"So anyways, about the party. I'll stop by, of course, but—you still haven't told me about your Christmas!"

Jesus Christ. I sigh again. "I haven't told you because there's nothing to tell, really."

Kingdom of boredom and sadness. Blaise and me were all alone, since his mother spend a few days at her lover's house - and I have to admit it was quite nice. She's been whining and grimacing all the time when we arrived, but she spared us this for Christmas Eve. Day befor, her and Blaise got into that huge fight over some nonsense and he was grumpy all evening. We both got sad and drunk; not really the best way to spend your Christmas, I suppose. I dreamt of Granger and woke up with horrible hungover.

Not going to tell Pansy any of that, though. I would never even consider it. But I am considering whether I'm still real piece of ass and I guess I am, since I tell her, "We visited Astoria during those days, that's the only remarkable thing. Nothing more."

"Oh." She's surprised and then she's downcast, looking at her shoes. "Well, that's great."

I honestly don't really know what I'm doing. I tried to push her away before, so she stopped being in love with me; I hurt her really bad a few times, and yet she stayed. And yet, she haven't stopped loving me.

Shouldn't try this method again, I guess.

Thank Merlin I can see Blaise walking to us. Clear my throat. "I'll tell Zab you're going to be on the party, unless you want to do it yourself."

"No, no. Good luck with your parents," she says really quickly.

I'm not telling her she said it before. Actually, I feel kind of sorry for her as she walks away.

Blaise comes closer and we both watch her as she disappears. "What did she say? You're even more white on your face than usual, and since you're bloody albino, that's telling someting."

Glare at him. "Just get this over with, Blaise."

And just then he understands it's not the best time for jokes and his attemps in trying to cheer me up won't work this time. He simply nods. "As you wish, my lord."

I roll my eyes the second he takes us to Malfoy Manor.

He can't walk over the gate, though. We stop in front of it, both watching an enormous and old building, its towers and bad memories: these are around him like some bloody shroud and we're the only ones who can see it. 

Finally, he speaks. "I'm going to just wait here. Don't spend too much time in there, would you? I don't wish to freeze to death."

Even though I feel like I might throw up at any moment and I know I have to put my best mask on, I send him a smirk and mean glance. "Oh, what a coincidence. Just when I thought I was going to die when I was waiting for you in that bloody snowland."

He waves his hand at me, pretending to be annoyed. "Hilarious, Malfoy. Just tell them to go to hell and let's go home."

Home. Wonder if Blaise knows I don't have a home anymore.

The first step is the most difficult one.

Just like the second, and the third, and any other after that. But I keep walking until I'm at the door and elves open the door. I don't leave anything - my coat, my scarf; it won't touch anything in this house and neither will I - and I just walk futher. 

My mother and father are waiting for me in the living room, wisely not choosing the dining one. We all know what happened there; but still, it's me coming to them. Never the other way around.

I really hope I won't have to visit this place never again. I want to see my mother, obviously - all Christmas and all birthdays, mine and hers. I want to see her, hear her, hold her hand to the very end; she's the reason we're not locked in Azkaban, she's the reason I'm alive right now (still not sure if I should be grateful about this one). But this house, my father, those elves...For how long Granger's been fighting for their laws now? It's been years, I'm sure. 

She was screaming - in this house. She was bleeding - on this floor. She was dying and I was just standing there.

I open the door.

My mother got more thin and there are wrinkles on her face - around the mouth, nose and eyes. They weren't there before, but she still looks beautiful and strong. But also tired. Really, really tired.

My father's hair is gray. Not blonde like mine anymore. He's graying, Merlin save us all. Never thought I'd see that. He's thiner too, and doesn't look tired. He doesn't look like mighty Lucius Malfoy either. He looks...sick. And broken.

Just like we all are. 

I stop, not sure what should I do now, and it all would be really awkward but my mother saves the day like she usually does, coming to me and hugging me.

I hug her back. I don't even hesitate, I just do it. She's my mother.

"Draco." Kiss on my cheek. "Lovely to see you. You look—really good. Healthy."

Translation: we thought you'd look like a ghost, just like we do, but it's not that bad! 

"You look healthy, too." I take step away, glance at my father, nod to him. "Father."

"Hello, Draco," he nods right back and smiles. "Will you sit down?"

"Don't think so. I don't have much time, Blaise is waiting outside."

Their forced smiles disappear.

There's been so many fights after the war I can't even remember all of them, but they know my opinion. They know that they've got no control over me anymore - well, father particulary. My mother never tried to fully control me, not really. They also now I needed to force myself to come here. 

"So, make it quick," I suggest, trying to be calm. And cold, of course. Cold and arrogant, I was always trying to be this way: in school and at home. I can't be weak, can I? I have to be careless. 

And so I am.

"My Christmas was all right, spent it all alone with Blaise. Had so much fun. School's been fine, no problems at all." Granger, Granger, Granger; for a second I can see her face in front of me, hanging in the middle of our kiss. In the next, I can hear her screams when she was tortured. "Yours was fine as well, I suppose?"

"It was silent," my mother says, "and nice. It's a shame we couldn't spend it with you."

It's not that they couldn't. I just didn't want to. I know they both know that, they just refuse to believe that.

"That's good." My mother shudders as she hears my voice, so emotionless. "Something you want to ask me?"

She sighs and looks at my father, who clears his throat. Oh, straight to the end, then: great. Exactly what I intented; didn't expect it to be that easy. "How's been Quidditch?"

Like you care, father. "Good."

"Is Slytherin going to win this year?"

"It's possible."

"How's your studying?"

Not that easy. Roll my eyes. "To the end, father. Like I said, Blaise is waiting. His mother won't let me in if he dies of cold out there."

"Then perhaps you could—" It's my mother. Her voice is mournful; is she about to cry?

Don't look at her. Can't look at her.

"No, it's all right," my father calms her down immediately.

But then, she snaps back. "No, it's not. Draco, we really missed you—"

"I believe you did," I say, but I speak like I'm dead now and just have to glance at her, let a little bit of warmness show on my face. "I believe you."

She smiles weakly, but then I look at my father again. "You were saying?"

"There's a thing we need to discuss," he starts. He's careful now; very well. "I know we're not on good terms right now, and our family has been through a lot. We've been through a lot and I know you're blaming this on me—"

I'm not blaming him. It was all his fucking fault, because he couldn't protect his own family.

I'm not going to lost it. "Correct."

"But you are still a Malfoy," he continues, "and you still have to get married. To pass a family name. Your mother and I—we wanted to tell you that perhaps it's time for you to start looking for a woman whom you're going to spend your life with."

Oh, that. Why am I even surprised, honestly? The man's got bloody nerve, I need all my will to not murder him here and now (how dare he? Would I really go to Azkaban if I killed him right now?)

To pass a family name, yes, but it's not only that. Of course, my father wants someone to be raised just like him, another mighty Malfoy, pureblooded and cruel. 

But there might be a problem.

I don't really feel like I should a child on my own; and yet, I must have one. Someone who will return Malfoy family their right name, make them valuable in the eyes of other people. Who will let others believe Malfoys can be good and noble. Someone who will make Malfoys have a good reputation and fix everything that was done during the ages. That someone has to be pure, innocent, good - which means it can't be me.

But it's going to be my child if I raise him or her right and that's exactly what I'm going to do.

"Draco?

I look at my father, at my mother - at their concerned faces (so scared I'll refuse? Oh, how lovely). "No need to worry about that, dear parents. I will find myself a spouse."

But who? Not in Hogwarts, that's for sure; and I'm definitely not marrying Pansy, even though I'm sure she'd wanted to. And Granger...

No. I can see her again, her face, almost feel her lips on mine and her breath on my skin - but I push this image away. It's never going to happen again.

What a shame.

"It's been a nice talk. Happy New Year."

I leave them like that.

 

"Where the hell is he?" Blaise literally couldn't be more irritated. "I'm starving!"

I'm annoyed as well, but not at all because of hunger. I just can't stand Pansy and Blaise bickering and me being the only sane person in this compartment. Where the hell is Nott? 

Can't be here, I'm suffocating. It's possible I've been this way since I came back from Malfoy Manor. This place's been always killing some part of me, I believe. 

I raise up in one moment. "I'm going to look after him."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake—" Blaise growls and Pansy growls right back, but I leave them. Who knows, perhaps I bump into Granger?

Yes, and tell her what? Ask her how her Christmas was? Pathetic. And loathsome.

Loathsome. I used to think I'm going to love this world, so often I was repeating it in my mind. You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach.

Not compliment at all, but so many emotions in her! I was practically scared. It was...intense.

But I prefer that kind of intense that happened in my dormitory right before Christmas. I'm trying not to remember it, not to feel this sadness, and yet...

What's going on in this compartment? Why is there so bloody loud in there?

I open the door and for a second I don't know what I'm actually saying: just some couple making out, her hands in his hair and his hands on her waist, pulling her closer. But then I notice their faces.

"Draco!" Astoria moves away really quickly. "It's—"

Betrayal. Betrayal. Betrayal.

There's something red in front of my eyes. I hope it's Nott's blood - or it's going to be, at least.

"Draco, no!" Astoria shouts the second my fist reaches Nott's nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK.  
> All right, this chapter might be a really bit disappointing, especially there's no real Dramione in there  
> but it's the last one   
> Hermione will be in every chapter from now on (well, almost)  
> and I've got many ideas for all chapters to the end   
> so the next ones are gonna be great, I promise  
> Want to add that all your Kudos just warm up my heart and thank y'all ^^


	14. What we had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess there is this feeling called love.

I'm going to fucking murder him.

Not kill him, no. No killing him at all. I'm going to murder him - beat him so hard he won't able to see or hear anymore, and just then I will murder him slowly, no rush and no mercy. He didn't do a damn thing to deserve my goddamn mercy.

Astoria. Sweet, little, innocent Astoria: cunning and with a good and golden heart, one of the most purest people walking on this Earth. He took her and manipulated her and—

"Better talk to her first," Blaise is still talking as I'm marching through the corridors. "Draco! Are you listening to me at all?"

"Want to chit chat now?" I hiss. "Let me be clear with you, Blaise: murderer on the mission, who's about to have more blood on his hands, no time for pep talk at the moment. Talk to you later."

"Draco, for God's sake." He grabs my arm, stops me and turns me to him; it's violent and slows me down, I break out.

"What the hell, Zabini?" I growl, and then I break. I grab his collar, shut him against the wall, I'm raging. Don't remember the last I was this angry. "Theo seduced and disrespected Astoria. Astoria, the sweetest person in this castle, who is a goddamn light for everyone in here and me myself! So let me handle my own business and go back to yours, would you?"

In that matter, Blaise is stronger than me, but it looks like he forgot about it: he just glares at me, pushes me away, I let him go. "Listen to me, you blonde drama queen. Speak to Astoria first!"

Hasn't he heard me, or is he just this stubborn in defying me? "Don't push me now, Zab, I'm warning you—"

"No," he growls frustratedly. "I'm the one warning you, my friend. You don't know what happened. You're a walking vulcano right now, so calm the fuck down!"

I smirk, look at him cooly. Blaise, of all people, should know there's no way in stopping me. "Great talk, Blaise. Now leave me the hell alone before I do something you'll regret."

"I will?" he scoffs, seems like he doesn't believe me.

"I'm not going to be the one with my eye black, pal."

"Draco, if I'll have to stop you from murdering this moron Nott by force, don't think I—"

"I hope neither of you do something we'll all regret."

I calm down, I have to. I turn and see Astoria, furious (that's the second time I see her ruled by this emotion). Tupting her feet, crossing her arms, she glares at both of us. She's so little and I can't think of Nott doing these things with her, it's...

(Calm down. Breathe in, breathe out. Good. Calm down, Malfoy, calm down; close my eyes, see Granger. Calm the fuck down).

"Astoria," turn to her, raise eyebrow at her. "Good to see you, the exact person I was lo—"

"Bullocks, you were looking for Theo just to beat the crap out of him," she says. She comes along, squeezing her eyes in anger. Doesn't look really terrifying, to be fair, but it's still strange: seeing her in such state. "Blaise, would you leave us?"

"Gladly." Pause. "But, you know, Astoria, I'd like to hear an explonation, too."

She shrugs like she doesn't care. "Ask Theo, if you want to. I'm sure he'll tell you the right story."

I, however, wouldn't be so sure of that: Nott is one lying piece of garbage. Can't tell that to Blaise, though, since he's already gone, and I need to figure out how to apologize really quickly, because seeing Astoria this furious with me...well, she's the only person who's neven been this angry at me (well, until now). Don't know why I care so much, but I do and I won't (can't) really change it.

I watch her closely. Not under Imperio Curse, doesn't look like that, but brain-washed? Even though her gaze is perfectly clear (and glistening with pure anger as well) it's still possible.

We're standing in a perfect silence for a moment (trying to look like I'm not uncomfortable with her pose, her look, her emotions at me). Calm and cold as I always am. "He disrespected you?"

She snorts arrogantly. "Call things the way they really are, Draco. Are you asking if I slept with him?"

(Don't want to picture that, never). I nod.

She rolls her eyes, looks like she's running out of patience (but I doubt that: she's really got a lot of patience in her system). "No, I haven't. Yet."

Close my eyes. "Astoria, listen—"

"No, you listen to me," she hisses like an angry lynx, I'm stunned. "I heard that conversation, Draco. Never thought I'd say it, but here it goes: Blaise is right. You don't know the story. You were just going to punch Theo until he apologizes on his knees!" Shame to admit, but basically: yes. "Which is ridiculous, by the way. We are not related. I don't mean a thing to you. Theo isn't your friend either, how many times he told me you made it clear to him? We're together, him and I, and you're just disturbed because we're always around and I guess the mighty Draco Malfoy wanted us to ask him first, ask for his goddamn permission, like you've got right to it, like—"

"I just have to know he didn't manipulate you!" I hiss right back at her, silly brat she is right now. 

She scoffs. "Manipulate me? How delusional are you right now, Draco?" she shakes her head. "Insulting my boyfriend? That's a low blow, it really is."

She glares at me still, but I know what I see. It's not anger or hatred, it just disappointment: nothing more is there. I disappointed her: little Astoria, always believing there's some part of good in me, is disappointed. Given up on me, even.

"I know you don't follow the rules or barriers," she adds more cooly and calmly now. "You never did. But acting like that, Draco, it's just—"

Horrific. Painful. It's playing - that's what I'm doing.

But...it's not. Not now.

"You don't need my damn blessing, I just needed to know you were safe." Breathing, swallowing saliva, it's hard now. "You're my friend."

Friend. How strange this word sounds in my mouth, it actually doesn't even fit, like it didn't have a right to be there.

Astoria still is one little angry lynx. "Friend?" she mocks me. "You don't have friends, Draco. You've only got Blaise, you said it yourself."

"I was wrong." It doesn't come easy to me and I hate it. I'm the master of lying, I'm good at this, I'm natural. This...is not my territory. Honesty? No. Definitely no.

But I disappointed her. Astoria, who's the only one I trusted enough to tell. The only person I was sworn to protect.

"I was wrong," I repeat. I want her to understand, because she's the only one that can and I need her to stay with me when the world is crushing down. It's embarrasing I even need someone (Father would be disgusted; get him out of my head), but it's the fact. "It's you and it's Theo, and it's Pansy, even. I can—you're guys are always there with me. You never leave."

Every goddamn talk, every joke, every 'How are you?', every not turning back on me, but talking me to despite everything I've done. They are there, always. 

Don't know how the hell it happened.

Astoria melts. Not immediately and not wholy, but she does. Her gaze is more warm, her face - more soft. She lets go, she sighs. "Go talk to Theo."

Right now? No. I think I may still punch him (I'll probably do it anyway, just because he was doing all of this behind my back), can't look at him right now. He knew...he knew how mad was I going to get, that son of a bitch knew.

Astoria looks annoyed again. "Draco—"

"Perhaps I will, Astoria," I repeat as I watch her. I know she's going to be getting me for that for a while now, and she's not going to forget this: but I guess this is how it looks like when you got friends who you've hurt. I guess this is just how it works (I'm going to need a few lessons about that).

I take a step back; it's better if I leave her alone right now, let her calm down entirely and let her go back to me once she's ready. "And—do you love him?" Have to know that.

I guess there is this feeling called love, it really does exist. I know my mother loves me; loved my father once upon a time as well. I know Blaise sees me like a brother figure, it works both ways. It must be some kind of love itself. It has to be, because there's no such loyalty without stronger emotion accompanying.

Astoria smiles finally, happiness in her eyes. She's not pretending, she's actually joyful. "I do," she says. "Just as much as you love Hermione."

"I do not." Must say it. She looks puzzled. "I wish I loved her, but I can't."

My pride, my shame, her future. Can't destroy her by loving her, right? Can't do that to her. Would never.

I feel Astoria's gaze on my back as I leave her alone and I don't know it means.

 

"We need to talk."

Granger looks over her shoulder, but there's no one on the corridor right now (of course not: it's way too late) and once she's sure she's safe and alone (with me), turns again and sighs. "I believe we do, Malfoy."

At least she's not running away from me; that's the start, I think.

I nod, open the door to empty classroom without a word; speak just when she looks at me, sending me this haughty look shouting: I'm not as naive as you think I am, Malfoy. (I think she naively believes in people when she's got no reason to, but I don't consider her actually naive, she's too smart for that).

I sigh. "I'm not going to hex you in the empty classroom, Granger, for God's sake." (To be honest: I'm sure she would beat me in a double, but I'll never admit it).

She snorts, annoyed. "It's not hexing I'm worried about."

I smirk. "I'm not going to throw myself at you either, Granger. It's even less likely, actually."

That's me. I'm mean, I'm cruel, that's all me.

But she's not buying it. She walks to that damn classroom and turn to me immediately, with her eyes glistening in the half-dark. "And why is that so?"

It's been more than a month since our little accident. Right time to clear it up, obviously, but being alone with her in empty room...well, I didn't exactly think that through. It's just all it takes: her being few feet away from me, glaring at me rebelliously, and me, remembering how it felt when my lips tasted hers. (I really need to pull myself together finally).

"I think we need to explain some things, Granger," I say. 

I'm not trying to be cold, I'm trying to be distant, but it's all the same for her. She looks at me mockingly. "Very well. You can go firt, Malfoy."

Naturally. Need a moment, but in the end, I'm doing it: I look straight at her face, into her eyes. Don't wish to be emotional, but she needs to know I mean it. And she needs to know I'm sorry I pulled her into this mess I am.

"You seem—confused, Granger," I say slowly (must be careful there), "and I'll admit it could've been interesting."

The worst part of all this is that it could work, it could've been really interesting. We were always the matching set, the opposites: both quite ambitious and intelligent, but while she was fire made flesh, gentle and soft and brave, fighting what she believed was right, I was ice and stone, a coward who was lying and manipulating and hiding and doing what it took to survive. Nothing more than that. She was a true angel, I believe, and she should never speak a word to me. I need to apologize to her and I don't know how. And I have to think of something, made something up (I'm never telling the truth).

"It's how it works in my family," I tell her. "Arranged marriages like it's been done ages before, just the family name to be carried on. And us, it would never—do any good. If we could stand each other's presence, of course. It would be—a disaster."

"Because you wanted to get laid with me," she scoffs, "or you mean catastrophe like Romeo and Juliet?"

She thinks I don't have idea what's she talking about, but I do (good thing we don't feel for each other like that). "We both know which one, Granger." 

"No, I know it's neither of them or both of them and I don't know what you're talking about," she huffs. "It was magical, and yet you knew you're not feeling anything. Game of yours, was it? So, since you clearly consinder me worth enough to explain it to me, do tell: why did you start this at all?"

"I don't know." This one is true, at least. "I was just challenging you, Granger, that's what I've been—"

"Not that, Malfoy," she rolls her eyes theatrically. "I'm asking why you showed me who you really are."

"Meaning cold-blooded Death Eater?" My voice is cold, can't help it, it does what it wants and I let it. How dare she? "Thought it was commonly known fact."

"Your real face," she pressures me. "When you actually cared and did give a damn what people are thinking, you actually gave a damn what's happening around you."

When did I show her? By talking to her, defending her, punishing Weasley, watching over her? It's not that, it's not...

She kissed me.

She kissed me first that night because she saw something in my eyes when she looked at me. She just stopped right there and melted in front of my eyes and kissed me because she saw it. 

Bloody hell. 

"I didn't show you anything, Granger," I growl at her. "Look who's the insane one now."

"You showed it to me and made me confused."

"I did no such—"

"Goddamit, Malfoy!"

I stop. Her turn. Wants to trample me? Do it, Granger. 

"You wanted to talk? Very well." She's breathing quickly, her chest rises and falls few times in one second, she comes closer (dangerous, really dangerous, move away or come closer and kiss me, please). "I want to tell you this. You're a bastard. You were a bloody Death Eather, you stood there and watched them torture me, you heard my screams and you didn't do a damn thing!"

Here's the truth she's been holding in herself. Dear Lord, finally. There we go, the subject I can relate to.

But I can't yell at her or be cold with her again. I can't...hurt her. Not more than I already did. "I know."

"You wanted to try something, didn't you?" she goes on; look at her, frown, can't understand her now, can't follow. "Some kind of experiment, perhaps? Because you wanted to help me, back then. You kept Harry safe because you lied, and you—"

I see what she's doing. Searching for good, as she always does in people. It's the habit she's not able to fight with; this is why I have to help her with that little problem. Can't let her— "Stop, Granger. That was honor was demanding, I didn't wish to watch them kill you on my bloody floor. Let it go."

"No!" She raises her voice, frustration is pouring from her like some really hot lava. We're both on dangerous ground now. "Damn it, Malfoy, you're a bloody bastard. You were fighting and killing and—God, you are so, so damaged. Why did you do what they told you, for Heaven's sake? What have you done?"

Don't know what to tell her, since she's speaking nothing but truth.

I wanted to help her, of course I wanted to. Her and Potter: his side was the right one all along and when I wanted to come back, it was already too late. And it's way too late now and I can't make her think otherwise.

Because I'm damaged thing. Because I'm lost and broken and not because of what happened or what I saw. I'm broken because of my own choices; because I know they were mine choices, decided be me and no one else.

"I am," I say. Nothing left for me to defend myself; losing the nerve, I guess I am. "And I'm sorry, Hermione, I truly am."

Confsuing her and hurting her even when I don't want to. I guess it's kind of my curse, destroying everything like I'm used to do. 

She raises her eyes at me immediately, fulls of regret and pain and frustration, it's burning her inside from intesivety. She bites her lip, she's exausted (want to hug her, calm her down; I'm so, so sorry). Why did I use her first name? Didn't mean to, it's just flipped: but it's so beautiful, it fits in my mouth. The most beautiful word it is.

"I'm supposed to believe that, but I can't." She watches me closely, checking me reaction; good thing she doesn't believe it, I'm relieved (Lord, she must be so confused; damaged thing or a villain, who am I?). I breathe. "Even if I wanted to, I just can't. I'm sorry too, Malfoy. You have no idea how much pity I have for you. But pity—pity was good. And hate was good. But you can control things now, you know? Now, after the war, you truly can. And you could just not let me feel more than pity, and you decided to have your fun and show me a man you could've been once upon a time and check how will I—"

"This is bullshit, I never intented to—" No. That woman has too strong influence on me. Makes me wants to say things she shouldn't know about. I sigh, look away. "Just—go away, Granger. Because if you asked what I want, I want this: accept my apologies, my honest apologies, about every damn thing that has happened to you. But I never want to see you again. I want you to just—gone."

That's the last thing I want from her; I want to see her every day, see her smile, hear her laugh. I want her to yell at me and insult me and hate me, as long as she feels something and doesn't naively believe there's still chance for me. 

"Excellent then." Her voice is almost as cold as my own; good job, beautiful one. "Goodbye, Malfoy. And—if I may—just—be the person you always wanted to. All right? I think in the another world, another life—you might've been good if you tried really hard, you know?"

Good person. Was there even a chance for me, truly? Being a Malfoy...

I had no choice. I had to protect them, I had no choice. 

"I had no choice."

"I know that. But you had choice about what you're doing in Hogwarts after war, Malfoy. About your life. You did have a choice."

(What have I done?)

(Showed her part of real me, hurt her; what have I done?).

(Let her believe I care, I can help her; why would I do that?)

She leaves. She doesn't take more look at me, it's waste of time: she turns away and walks through the door, leaves them open and I can see her leaving. Can't take my eyes away from her back, moving away from me as past as possible. 

She doesn't feel a thing for me. She doesn't, I know. She's been hating me for years: then there was pity, then there was...something, I don't know. And it's just disgust now, which is worse than nothing. She won't change it, I know. She'll always despise the Draco Malfoy, a murderer. 

Who fucking loves her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go.  
> It's complicated, it's hard to understand, it looks like it has no sense. I know, I know.  
> But you guys, Draco is so damaged. So broken. His own mind and heart are playing him, he's not sure who he is anymore. It's clear, right?  
> Please, trust my story. It'll make sense in the end (I hope).  
> Thank you for all Kudos and comments, love them and love y'all.


	15. It's all too quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all vanishes.

"Reality to Draco."

Reality is horrible. Why would I want to return to it so soon? 

Everything fades in front of my eyes as I turn to Pansy: her concerned face (definitely too close to mine) as she's watching me with her eyebrows frowning. "The Charms homework—it's for tomorrow, you know?"

"I'll rewrite it from Blaise," I shrug.

Pansy raises eyebrows at me (disrespectful, really). "Bold of you to assume Blaise did his homework." 

Shrug again. "Then I won't get it done at all, I guess." Who cares about that kind of stuff, really? 

"You always get everything done, and if you don't do it, you're going to get a detention. And from what I remember, you promised McGonagall impeccable behavior."

"It's Blaise who's my guardian on that, Pansy, not you." 

I wish I had firewhisky, I need it now. But Blaise is probably still recovering from last (yesterday's) party (pretty sure he's still throwing up) and I don't wish to go to the dorm in the next few hours.

I glance at Pansy, her irritated face. She's pain in the ass, she's loud and intolerant and hard to stand, but there's one advantage I must admit she has: loyalty. She's been loyal to me since she met me and never turned her back on me. She even used to do my homework and cry when I broke my arm (well, that was quite pathetic, but still). She's not really smart or brave or good, but she's...there. Always helping me.

Why not to test that? I'm not going to be son of a bitch, but I ask her anyway, "Would you help me with it?"

"Helping means doing it for you and I'm not there anymore, Draco," she snorts and turns away to her own parchment. "I've got things to do."

Oh, so she got a little bit smarter after all. I lean more comfortbale on the sofa, I look at her with curiosity. "Where were you during the war, Pansy?"

"What now?" she frowns, still not looking at me.

"The war with Voldemort," I repeat. "Where were you?"

I almost jump (I'm really surprised) when she abruptly shuts the books on the table and turns to me with lightnings in her eyes. "All right, Draco, tell me what the hell is going on."

She was always emotional, could cry in one moment and burst out laughing second after; she was always like that (one of the reasons Blaise dislikes her so much). Pissing her off is easy, she can get angry at any moment; but she was never angry with me.

Raise eyebrow at her. "What do you mean?"

"You're absent with your mind for weeks now, you don't even care about what Blaise's doing, and now you're interested in my well-being during the war?"

(I pretend I didn't hear her whole utterance; I always care about Blaise). "I never said I'm interested," I point out; it's sad, because I'm really not. "I'm just curious."

"Well, be more curious about how you're not getting a detention tomorrow," she growls, but as I said: she's never angry with me. She loses it, her arms lower. "What's going on with you, Draco? It has something to do with Nott? You're not talking to him at all."

"Why would I?" I shrug. 

"Because you always are, he's your pal!" she rolls her eyes, she sighs and looks at me with much more insecurity in her eyes (I'm alerted now, something's coming). "Is this about Granger?" she asks gently (afraid I'm going to put myself on fire or something? Not my style at all).

I believe it's the first time I hear her actually saying her surname instead of word 'mudblood' (I'm being a hyprocite).

Just the word 'Granger' is enough for me to see her right in front of my eyes, like she's sitting on the armchair in front of me. Her big brown eyes (remanding me of a doe) looking at me with anger and regret (How could you confuse me like that, Malfoy?), her curls, her rose perfume. All here in one second: and it all vanishes in the next one.

Roll my eyes. "Why would it be about Granger?" I think I'm going to do this homework anyway, I grap the parchment. "Besides, it's not even your concern."

Ouch. She winces, blinks quickly. She was expecting this, and yet every time it surprises and hurts her. "Right. Well," she clears her throat, "you could rewrite homework from Nott if you talked to him."

Don't want to think about Nott. Right, it's been weeks now and Astoria barely talks to me, still waiting when I'm going to speak to him, but I'm not. I just can't. I'm still positive I'll murder him the second I look at his bloody face.

But, Pansy still got a point: I used to rewrite homework from Nott on my sixth year very often. Should consider it, but...

But.

Can't think of talking to him right now. Looks I'm going to work by myself. "Perhaps I could rewrite yours?"

She glances at me, connivance all over her. "You're not that desperate, Draco."

"I'm never desparate," I growl. 

She looks at me for a moment, then sighs. "Yeah, you're right." She looks up just for a brief while, but something catches her attention. "Oh, look who is it."

I look up lazily and just then I feel the whole blood in my veins turning into raging fire. I'm afraid I really might explode any moment now, my whole mind is screaming at me and I want to destroy everyone.

Theo and Astoria walk into the common room, arm to arm, laughing and leaning on each other. They're in great moods today, they really are. They stopped hiding their relationship and whole Slytherin House knows about it; now everybody here are looking at them with much sympathy on their faces (why?).

But once they see me they just froze and it seems like the whole room frozes with them. Some of Slytherins look at me, some of them subtetly leave the common room. I'm not taking my eyes of Nott, my cold glance full of harted and...

Pansy kicks me under the table (strongly; when did she got that strong?). I blink and I look at Astoria: she's holding onto Nott's arm, biting her lip. Tilts her head, raises her eyebrows at me. I know this look, full of reproaches. It calls me, it says 'When if not now?'.

Right. I'm not going to avoid Nott to the end of my days, or hate him for that long; what a tiring activity that would be! Astoria is like a sister to me, but she is not family. I can't beat the hell out of Nott if he didn't hurt or disgraced her (but once he does I'll be the first person to do so, I may promise him that).

I nod very slowly.

It feels like the whole world (Common Room; there's no other world than Slytherin House) breathed in relief. Chattering, talking, laughing, doing homework - it's all back, Astoria turns and whispers something to Theo's ear. I look away (the urge to punch him is still there, hiding in me and waiting) and I look at Pansy's face.

"Perhaps he'll lend you his homework," she says and stands up. "Oh, Draco—here's the thing—"

"Do be quick, would you?" I see Nott leaving Astoria and heading to me (well, there we go).

"If you want to help Granger in any way or—do something kind to her—you may help her with her parents."

Look at her immediately. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Everyone knows her parents are in Australia, they don't remember her. People in the castle just know it and many girls are gossiping about it, naturally," she explains.

(Sure thing, Pansy. I'm sure you're one of those girls). "And? What about it?"

"Granger can't find them. If you want to do something kind to her, you could—you know, help her with that."

Theo's still not here, he's got almost whole common room to walk past through. I'm not taking my eyes off Pansy, it just doesn't seem right. "Why would you tell me that?"

"Why do I always tell you things like that?" she shrugs. "To help you. That's what I do, Draco." 

I look at her as she walks away, back to her dormitory. Yes, that's right, that's what she's always been doing, since the very start.

"Draco?" Theo is right next to me now, standing above me like a bloody mountain. "Free seat?"

(Not for you, Nott; get the hell away from me).

I nod my head briefly; watch him coldly as he sits.

He's stressed, nervous and tense. He looks at his hands, clears his throat. "Astoria said you were going to talk to me."

Astoria. "I was."

"I assume you don't want to punch me, then."

"Oh, I very much do," I assure him. "But since I wanted to fucking murder you, let's call this a progress."

He smiles under his breath. "Yeah, right. Look, Draco, I'll start: I can tell you everything, when it started and how it started and why didn't we—"

"Don't." I don't want to hear it, I don't want to know about it. If I did I may really punch him in front of everyone and that wouldn't be good move (fortunately there's no one around, we're on the back of the room; plus no one should be that dumb to try and overhear to my conversation, I'm still Draco bloody Malfoy).

"But I won't, because I don't see why would I owe you an explonation."

I look at him, I'm not entirely sure if my hear is right. "Come again?"

"You're my pal, my friend, even," Theo says. "Well, at least I consider you that way—sometimes. And I know Astoria is—important to you. You're overprotective like a really fiercy ferret."

Jokes on that now? Really? "Nott—"

"We knew you'd get angry, but we wanted to keep it for ourselves for a while. But why do we owe you any kind of explaination? I want you to be all right with this, with Astoria and me. And I know why you got so disturbed, but I'm not going to hurt her in any way, Draco. I'm serious about this, I think I lo—"

"Oh no, save me all this," I snarl, wave my hand. "No need for sentimental speech about your feelings, Nott, I really don't need or want that in my life."

He blinks at me, so surprised he got red on his face. Pretty sure he's not really following or understanding what's going on. "But—you don't want to be sure I won't hurt her? That I'm serious about her?"

"It's moving that you're so worried about my reaction, but honestly, I'm not a bloody idiot you think I am, Theo. It's obvious you are serious." I lean to him, look him straight in the eye, not amused anymore, but stone-cold. "But if you hurt just once, know it will give me perfect excuse to kill you and I'm not going to waste it."

He nods - but only once, not looking away. "Understood."

Nod my head as well. "Good."

"Good."

"Could you borrow me your Charms homework?"

He smirks. "Been wondering when were you going to ask me this."

***

Hermione Jean Granger, born 1979 in England. During the war she compelled her parents to forget about her and send them to Australia so Death Eaters would never find them. Oh, she's also constantly fighing of rights for the house elves.

Noble Granger. Always.

I've been avoiding her for weeks and there she is now, in the same secion in the school library, jumping and reaching for the books. It's hilarious to see, but she's doing pretty good job.

I'm not going to play games with her, but I'm not going to ignore her either; or wait until she leaves. NEWTs and looking for people about whom I have no idea what are they called or where they live is hard task even for me, and so I'm not going to waste any minute.

"Need little help there, Granger?"

She jumps as she hears me, book falls out of her hand. I catch it before it hits the ground and give it to her, shaking my head in disappointment. "Oh, Granger, always the clumsy one."

"Judged by the oversized ferret?" she scoffs.

"Thought your Patronus was a ferret." I'm rarely talking about Patronus spell since it's the one I can't manage (don't have too many happy memories), but this time it pays off.

She glares at me angrily. "It's an otter, you prat."

Raise my eyebrow at her (so adorable when she's angry; so happy she's talking to me and not hexing me; also, prat?). "Yes, right." 

She snorts, rolls her eyes...then looks at me almost warmly. "How come you got the O from Charms homework?"

"Surprised you're not the only one smart around here, Granger?" I smirk. "I just—tried."

She nods. "Congratulations then. And now would you kindly get out, since I'm trying to focus here?"

"Disturbing you, am I?" I turn and grab the book, then take one more glance at her (have to; haven't been so close to her in weeks, I missed it; shame on me, but I really did). "Done, Granger. You're welcome."

She rolls her eyes annoyed as I smirk again and walk away. When I look over my shoulder, I see her smiling under her breath.

Not good, she should hate me. But she doesn't...and I'm not going to try and change it. I want to believe we'll remain on good terms in the future. That's all I care about.

(Please, let me just have this one good thing in life).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shortest of all chapter, here it is.  
> I'm on fire. Adding 3 chapters in one evening.  
> Sorry about the mistakes - in this chapters and previous one, but it's midnight when I'm writing this and it's pretty possible I forgot about some things. Sorry again.   
> Hope it's okay, guys. Thanks for your Kudos, hope y'all are having great week ^^


	16. Holding my breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all karma.

"Good morning, Draco honey!"

I look up at the cheerful cry and wince immediately (can't control it) as I see Blaise walzing into the dorm. Step by step after him, like a petite shadow, comes Pansy: with food on the salver she's holding.

"Missed me?"

"Not really, no," I snort. I love having dorm for myself, I love this perfect silence; and Blaise just loves destroying this. "I'm busy."

"And as thin as birch-tree," says Pansy. "You look horrible, Draco, like you haven't sleep in weeks."

Snort again; what a nonsense. Of course I've slept, even I am not able to stay awake for a few weeks. "I never look horrible."

Blaise turns to Pansy suddenly, looking relieved (so much it honestly surprises me). "He's still a narcissist, meaning everything's all right."

"Of course it's all right," I growl. What am I, five? "And I'm not hungry, Pan." I'm trying to be nicer to her, since she's the one who gave me idea how to help Granger. She was helpful, more hepful than ever. I'm trying to be grateful for that.

"Just show some bloody gratitude, Draco, the food practically came to you," Blaise huffs as he falls on his back on the bed.

Glance at him with raised eyebrows. Blaise defending Pansy? That's unusual; strange, even. I'm suspicious, there's something wrong going on here and I'm not seeing it yet.

"Relax," Pansy rolls her eyes the moment she gives me the salver (understanding the word 'no' was never her thing). "Zabini and I used to have a truce because of worrying about you before, don't you remember?"

"I don't, actually. I remember Blaise laughing his stomach out on the fourth year." Glance at him: he's been reminding me of this whole ferret accident for a really long time. "And him being angry with me like a little baby on the third year."

He grins to me wildlily, very pleased with himself. "Old times, Draco, let it go already."

"Have you ever let anything go?" I sneer. It's hilarious, really.

"Well, we did have a truce on sixth year," Pansy says gently. "And I don't mean to upset you, but you certainly look like back then."

Glare at her; it's not the subject she's supposed to bring. She fights with my gaze...for awhile: she always eventually gives up and and looks down (usual thing).

"I'm curious," Blaise says slowly; he's laying on his bed, eyes on the canopy, and looks like he's not paying attention to anyone right now, "when was the last time you slept?"

Pansy looks at me again as I move away the papers and books to eat something. I'm not going to look like one of those bloody ghosts and I also don't wish for Pansy whining to my ear for the rest of week (or month; she's stubborn like that).

Have to answer (they won't let go, I know them well enough to know that). "Don't know. Don't care."

Pansy puffs, irritated. "I didn't tell you this information so you'd stay awake all night, Draco."

Not all night. "What are you, my mother now?" Glare at her coldly, she shivers. "Not your bloody business."

"Little Draco is breathing fire today," Blaise comments mockingly. "Pansy, would you leave us?" 

(Can't remember the last time he called her by her name; glance at him, he's still looking at canopy). Pansy is surprised as well, but she listens to him. She glances at me quickly and nods; very slowly, she's not sure if this is the right thing to do, but she agrees anyway. She goes to the door, she leaves. "Eat all of it, Draco, or be sure I'll tell Astoria."

"Can't wait," I snort.

I'm trying to be nice (I really am trying, harder than usual), but she's just intolerable. Making threats to me - that's her first mistake. Another one, just as stupid: telling someone so I'd be scared because of it? Like it's going to make any difference, nobody owes that kind of power over me; I wouldn't give it to anyone, this lesson from my father stayed with me forever. (Well, I suppose Granger could have it if she wanted, but I can't be sure). 

"It is about Granger then," Blaise says. Much more interest in his voice now, I can feel his eyes on me: pretending's done, then.

Very well. Move that salver away from me, I suddenly feel nausea and it's not funny. "I'm looking for her parents." Didn't tell him before, forgot about that; there are so many things to take care of, pay attention to; don't how why so many weeks have passed, don't know when. It's strange.

"Considering the whole castle knows that she, the brightest witch of our age, can't find them, then that's one hard task you've got yourself, mate."

"There are spells and potions that can track them down."

"And what makes you think Hermione didn't try that already?"

Snort, annoyed (he's disturbing me). "Of course she's tried that, she tried everything she could, I suppose. But she's not me."

"She hid them so any Death Eater wouldn't able to find—"

"Any Death Eeter, yes," I'm impatient; can't he just leave? Usually I enjoy his company very much, no matter what he's doing or saying; now is not the time, though. "But not normal people, not house elves."

Blaise scoffs. "Your services reach Australia?"

"My services reach everywhere, Blaise." Look at him: he must know I'm not angry with him, he's done nothing wrong; but he just can't be around me now as I'm ready to start breathing real fire. "Done now?"

Hear him sigh when I look away, hear him stand up. Not puzzling: if he really knows I need to be alone, he understands and gives me space without questioning it. There's been a little problem with that two years ago, as he knew something's not right and he shouldn't be leaving me alone with myself, but it's different. Now it's completely different; I'm grateful that he knows.

Forget about him; and so I jump, surprised, when he pats my arm gently. "Get some sleep later, you really look like a bloody deadman."

Roll my eyes. "Thanks for the description."

He snorts, walks away, leaves me the hell alone. Good.

Look at all these names I've got, all these books (it's her domain, how do I do this?). I've send some people, I've asked some people; I can do more, perhaps there's curse or spell she missed? Unlikely, but still possible. I sigh. Granger, how can I help you? How can I stop you from screaming? From bleeding on my floor? 

You're screaming. You're screaming horribly because you're a muggleborn, because your parents are muggles and not wizards. Your blood is everywhere, this dirty sharp knife is full of your dark blood and you're screaming and you just want this to stop and I'm just standing there, not moving or speaking not doing anything at all I'm a fucking coward. 

So much pain, too much, way too much, death would be better; death would be easier. You're crying and yelling and...

You're looking at me. Why are you looking at me? I'm sorry Granger, I didn't mean to, I should've stayed with you and Potter the whole time, stand by your side, fight with you arm to arm. I'm so sorry I didn't, I'm a moron, I—

"Very well, Draco," Bellatrix croaks. She was always mad, insane, psychotic; she hurt you and I hate her, I will murder her, tear her to pieces, limb by limb; I will.

I look at the blooded floor but knife's not there, it disappeard. I cut my finger on it as I hold it tight, point it at you. At your scar, at the letters carved on your perfect skin. I did this to you, Granger. Me. I'm the one who's insane murderer here.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm killing you, I'm so sorry; but you're not dead, you can't be dead, you always fight and you won't be—

"DRACO."

I jump, fall out from the bed; the whole food is in my stomach, no, it's in my bloody throat. The floor is cold and relaxing and comforting, I lay my forehead on it. 

No blood, no knife, no screams. No Malfoy Manor. I didn't kill her, she's a warrior: she's fierce and brave and strong, she survived. She's sleeping right now, breathing calmly in her own dormitory, in her bed. Safe. Alive. She got out.

But there was blood, so much blood on that knife...it was hers and it was my fault, and it is my fault, it always will be. How long before I finally realize that? 

"Draco, do you want anything, water or—"

"Just go back to fucking sleep, Blaise." 

Stand, push him away, run to the bathroom. I barely make it, the whole bloody food lands in the toilet (knew I shouldn't eat anything). I throw up for a really long time, until the knife and the black blood completely disappear from my eyes (for now, though; I know they'll eventually come back). Just then I fall on the floor, I stay there. This is where I belong, on the bloody ground.

I'm fucking damaged, like Granger poetically put it. I'm broken by my own fucking choices, by something I decided for myself. And I'll be damned for it for the rest of my existence and even longer: I'm sure hell is waiting for me with special kind of surprise. 

Stand up, force myself to look at the mirror. Pale, dishevelled, dark circles under my eyes. No wonder why Pansy said I look horrible: coming from her (being in love with me for years) it tells a lot. I look like a bloody ghost and I'm starting to believe I am. I never came back from Malfoy Manor, from Ministry where I was thinking I'm going to Azkaban's cell. I never came back and I don't think I ever will.

Bloody karma, isn't it? Got everything I deserve.

My face is wet, there are narrow smudges on it, glistening in the poor light; my eyes are glassy, I can barely see. Was I crying? Really? How pathetic is that?

Touch it; it's wet. No, I wasn't crying. I still am, I feel the sob escaping from my chest, from my throat; I feel my body tremble, I see tears appearing in my eyes and falling on my face again.

Bloody hell.

I'm a goddamn disaster, am I not? There I am, mighty Draco Malfoy, the heir of Malfoy fortune: in his bloody bathroom, crying himself to sleep. Yes.

It's all karma, I suppose.

***

"You all right?" Theo watches me carefully as Blaise and I take our seats beside him. God, could everyone stop asking me this already? 

I guess I don't look that pathetic, and I should be satisfied: I've got something, I found something. Have to look at Granger when she walks in; have to find a way to give it to her without her knowing it's me, but that's not a problem (much). Perhaps it's going to be alright for her after all. A happy ending. 

Blaise glares at Theo shortly, shakes his head (thinking I can't see it, probably). We didn't talk about night and Blaise didn't ask even one question. He's been like an annoying babysitter all morning though, joking and acting like I needed to be taken care of (I don't). Wonder for how long he's going to continue this little game; as usually, he's the only one finding it amusing (or maybe he's doing it for real because he's worried; no idea, don't really want to know). He and Theo are looking at me while I'm watching Granger: she walks in, takes her seat, starts chatting with a friend.

It's been months since she broke up with Weasley; no idea how the whole Golden Trio handles it, but he's not glaring at her with face of serial killer and Potter doesn't seem to be so miserable either, so I reckon it's all going back to normal. That's the way they work, it's always normal in the end (am I relieved? A little bit yes, I guess; Potter is her friend, she shouldn't lost him, even though he's completely lame). 

"Well hello everyone!" Slughorn reminds of a huge barrel, he really does. I still find it surprising he's not rolling instead of walking; sure he could do that and save himself trouble (and all of us included). "This lesson is going to be interesting!"

"Isn't every lesson interesting?" Blaise mutters, arms crossed on his chest. I smirk; he can be funny when he tries really hard.

"I'm sure every one of you noticed the strange smell and saw dense vapors as you walked in."

To be honest, I haven't noticed a thing. Yes, the smell is different than usual, it reminds me of firewhisky and Granger's perfume and something else; apples, perhaps? Not a big deal; vapors are always in this classroom, it's potions. Quick glance at Blaise and Theo; the second one is listening carefully (nerd, as he's always been; Astoria didn't change him much) and Blaise shrugs to me. "He's an old man, he's got every right to be this strange," he murmurs to me.

Roll my eyes. That should be an excuse?

"It's all coming from this big cauldron," Slughorn explains, potining at the cauldron behind him. Well, cauldron may be a wrong word: the thing is almost as big as Slughorn himself. "Can anyone tell me what's in it?" 

No one's surprise as Granger's hand flows up; not even Slughorn, he just laughs. "Miss Granger, of course! Describe this potion to us, would you? I might add it was in this classrom with you once before."

"Yes it was, Professor, on the sixth year," Granger says, true joy in her voice. She just loves showing off, shining with her knowlege and widsom, and yet she's not arrogant: she's just ambicious and loves it when she's the best. Strange and adorable at the same time; amazing. "I recognized these vapors rising up in whorls and this silver burnish as well."

Lord, what a boredom (love hearing Granger's voice, but I'm going to sleep any minute now; who cares about a potion?). Glance at Blaise once more: he's playing with Theo's parchments, ready to drop them right on his head any minute now. Kick him lightly under the table; he's not eleven anymore, for God's sake (wouldn't mind seeing Theo's anger, though). Blaise grins to me childishly.

"And this intense smell, no other potion has it," Granger's still talking. "For every person it's different."

"That's right!" Slughorn claps. "And if I may: what do you smell, Miss Granger?"

"Well," I can hear her smile, "I smell toothpaste and parchments and colo—"

Look up immediately, the time frozes. Did she say cologne?

She clears het throat, suddenly abashed, "And cole, Professor."

"Cole?" Slughorn laughs out loud. "Well, that's unusual smell for sure! Yes, Miss Granger, twenty points for Gryffindor. This potion smells different to each person because, as we said on the sixth year, it's Amortentia: the potion causing really strong infatuation or obsession." 

I'm not going to be doing bloody Amortentia today; as I'm not going to listen to old Snail's words. Look at Granger: at her curls in ponytail, her stiffened figure. 

Cole. Yeah, right. What did she want to say? (Please, don't it be cologne; we're both lost if it is).

Take a deep breath; it seems like I'm going to be the one taking those papers directly to Granger after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit sad, but the real action is about to get started, I can tell you.  
> Thanks for your Kudos and comments, hope you guys are fine :)


	17. Take away my pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess some people are just pure magic.

The enter to her dormitory is right there, like it's waiting for me and mocking me for not knowing the password. It's quite late, I shouldn't have been waiting this long, but I had to go myself. I have to ask her, to know. I just need to; I don't deserve to know, but I just can't...

I look at the statue; I'm not going to lose this time. I know she changes password every month, it's obvious. "Books are the key to wisdom," I say.

I know statue is not exactly a living object, but I'm almost sure it grimaces when it moves to let me in.

The living and dining room (dear, this place is huge; I almost forgot about it) are empty. I hesitate for just a few seconds before I walk up on the stairs and stop in the doors to her bedroom: the exact moment when she stands up and turns from her desk to see who the visitor is.

I can tell she wasn't expecting it would be me.

"Malfoy!" Her eyes grow wide, she glares at me. "What the hell? What are you doing here this late? And how do you even know the passoword?"

This late. She's not asking what am I doing here, but what am I doing here right now. Meaning she never really thought I'd never appear here again.

Well here I am, Granger.

Normally I would smirk and try to make her more nervous and angry, but not now. Come in, ask her, come out, all really quikly - I don't want to make it hard for neither of us, truth be told. "It wasn't so hard to guess, Granger. Sorry I've interrupted your usual boring studying."

"You do realize we have NEWTs in next week, right?" she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms; defensive position, she's impatient and not pleased at all (understand her perfectly). "What do you want?"

Well here I go, acting like madman I really am. "Today, on Slughorn's lesson - what did you smell? No one in that classroom believed it was cole, Granger, no one's that naive. So, I'd be really grateful if you told me and made me sure that I'm not—"

That I'm not lot. That we are not lost.

She raises her eyebrows, slowly; makes me realize that for the first time in my life I look and talk like a complete idiot. "Why are you acting like a lunatic, Malfoy?"

Have to stay proud and lofty; just a little bit. "Don't mock me, Granger, it's way too late hour for that. I just want to know—"

"What are those papers?"

Glance quickly at them, still in my hand; at names and places put there by my tragic handwriting. She sees the word 'Australia' and she sees the name 'Granger'.

She gets pale. Really, really pale. And...scared. 

No, not scared. Angry. Her voice is like a thunder of upcoming storm when she asks again, "What are those papers, Malfoy?"

Guess I won't win; not now and not ever. Not with her. (Make it quick. Make it painless; I want to).

I reach out, hand those cards to her; slowly. She snatches them away, glares at me for a moment before she quickly looks down, starts reading.

"This is the the most likely location of your parents," I tell her quietly.

She frozes. She stops breathing for a moment and her fingers stop twitching.

"Nothing certain, you can't be sure it'll turn out to be true" I add, "but it's probably there. Well, if not exactly in this city, then somewhere near; not on the opposite side of the country, I can assure you this much. It's—a lead, I guess, and you could start there. They've been there surely, I'm not positive if they're still there, but—it's a huge chance, I suppose."

She doesn't respond, she doesn't say a single word. She doesn't even look at me; will she start hating me for helping her?( I hope not. I really hope not.)

Her eyes start moving; she reads it all. And when she stops, she doesn't look up. She's still silent.

I guess I won't know if I'm right or wrong; if she started to feel something stronger. And I guess I won't know if she believed me and is going to look for them in Brisbane. 

When I turn around to walk away, I suddenly find myself wishing - not that she'd stop me, no. I really wish she finds her parents, sooner or later, and make them remember again. Make them realize they have a daughter, a great person who they get to spend every day with. I really wish that for her.

I walk to the door, I have to leave. I adore looking at her, but guessing what she's thinking, what she's going to do...no. Enough of that.

Walk, Draco. Just walk. And don't turn around. Don't say a word.

Just don't.

"Malfoy," she stops me; her voice, so quiet and unsure and beautiful. "Draco."

I turn around.

She looks so fragile like now, anything could literally crash her. She's standing in the middle of the room, holding those papers and she looks at me like she's about to cry. She's as pale as Death itself, she looks like a child she's never been (she had to grow up too fast, like all of us). Please, don't cry right now, Granger. I may not be able to leave.

I always had the urge to protect her. I hated it and I tried to hate her, but it was always there. Every time I insulted her, I wanted to punch myself in the face. Every time she cried, I wanted to hit myself against the wall, comfort her, say how sorry I was.

I never did, though. And I won't be able to do so now.

Something's fucking wrong with me, way more than I thought.

I'm standing here. I'm waiting. (Don't cry, I'm begging you).

"Why?"

Because I love you so goddamn much, Hermione. So much.

I clear my throat (no idea what to say). I shrug. "I owed you that."

"That's a lie. And I want honest answer."

I let her know me way too well. I let her get close to me. (What have I done to you, Hermione?) "Nobody else would be able to help you. I was, so I did."

So childlish. So...wrong. Not at all the words I should say, I should use; nothing that would satisfy her. Not the answer she wants to hear or not the one I want to give her. (I'm so sorry, Hermione.)

She bites her lips. Why does she keep looking straight at me? She usually looks away at this point, but this time her eyes are focused on my eyes all the time. She doesn't look away. "Apples. Perchament. Cologne. That's what I smelled at the lesson today."

Cologne.

She doesn't know anyone who uses a good cologne. Weasley's too poor, I'm sure it's not Potter style, Theo isn't using it and Blaise's not that good.

Me.

Dear Lord, what have I done.

Ever had a chance for redemption? Doubt that. But even if I did, I lost it now, letting Granger feel anything for me. Anything but hatred, that is. And letting myself to stay.

I'd like to think Granger did a first move, I really would, but I'm almost sure she didn't. Looking back, I'm sure I took the first step.

But the thing is, I'm in big rush and so is she, and when we collide we both can barely stand; I have to hold her, but at the same time I'm holding onto her because I may fell down the second I feel her lips on mine. (Please, please, please, let me...)

I'm not staying. I'm not walking away. I'm not doing anything, I just...

I just am. With her.

Let me be.

We can't be physically away from each other, we just can't. My hands are on her, it seems impossible to move them away from her body. They're in her hair (so soft, so light), holding her head gently as we kiss passionately; there's a fire between us, Hermione is bringing her fire to consume both of us now. They're on her waist, pulling her closer, and thenn they're on her hips raising her up, carrying her straight to her own bed, laying her down on the mattress.

I'm slow, I'm gentle, I cover her with my body. I kiss her; again and again, and I'm not sure if I can stop or control myself like I did the last time. I'm just...drawned. I'm drawned to her and I'm falling and drowing, it's consuming, the end and the beginning of my whole world. It's all her, nothing more exists. It's only her. She's the centre and I've got no chances against her. I guess some people are just pure magic and she is one: person who is nothing but beautiful magic itself.

Her legs are around me, not letting me move away (not that I would ever want to). Her fingers in my hair, her lips on mine. It's fire, these kisses: they're burning. It's fast and passionate and way more emotional than anything I've ever experienced. It feels like being alive again.

But then she moans when I kiss her harder, her hands move on my neck. And just like back then in my own dormitory, I slow down. I may have to...

"No," she whispers right into my ear; I think I'm dying, I might be dead already. "Don't."

"Hermione—" She doesn't know what she's doing. And she has to know. She must know what's hapenning right now, I can't have her not knowing.

I look at her and I'm sure there are tears in my eyes when I see her like that: under me, her locks on the pillow around her head like some kind of aureole, perfect for her. Something glistening in her eyes as she looks me with...affection. Desire. Warmness.

I'm weak, I'm too weak, I can't do this. "It's—"

"Draco," her hands moves to my face, she touches my cheek lightly. "I know what's happening. And I want this."

Kiss her again (and a few times more), lightly and softly, before I look straight into her eyes again. We're breathing in the same air, it's all mixed. "Are you sure?" I know I'm the first. And I want it to be perfect for her. I really...really want to, yes. Make it right with her.

She nods, she smiles. At me. Willingly and with no remorse. "I'm sure."

She's sure. Well, in that case I'm sure, too.

I won't hurt her. It'll be perfect, as perfect as it gets. It will be.

I lay down and kiss her. 

 

I'm not sure if I'm dreaming or not. It doesn't seem to be dream, truth be told.

She's here and I'm here, we're both here and she wants this, she told me loud and clear. She wants this, she wants me: right now, with her, in this room, in this bed. And here we are: breathing together, moving together, kissing. It seems like my whole universe disappeared leaving only her, the end and the beginning, my death and resurrection. I'm not able to move away from her, it's just not physically possible. I would be lost if I moved away, she's everything that matters right now. She is everything, she's the whole universe to me. I'm exhausted, I'm trembling and my mind has lost itself long time ago. I just can't understand how come this is happening; how come it's real.

This kind of stuff was never so...breathtaking. Overwhelming. I was always aware what's happening around me, where am I, what I'm doing. Now I'm a man lost in the fog. I can't remember anything but Hermione; it's embarrassing, but it's like there's no one but her in the whole world. It feels like this and I want it to stay like this. She's all I can feel and think about. She's the only person existing, surrounding me. She's everywhere and I fucking love it.

I also can't understand how easy this is.

Yes, these things were always easy for me, but with her...Talking to her was something almost impossible, being close to her enough to feel her breath was making me collapse (almost). But now I'm literally with her and it's like the easiest thing I've ever done, like I was meant to do this. (I don't believe in destiny, I've never believed in it; but now it feels like this just should be that way long time ago, it's not embarrassing or awkward or strange. It's natural).

I know she's nervous, I know about that. She's Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age. She's an expert in everything, champion on every field, master of every damn thing on this earth, but this one is new to her and she doesn't really know what to do. I know that. But I don't have to ask her again: I know she wants it, I can feel it. The passion in her kisses, the desire in her eyes, the fire I can literally feel as she's moving her hands on my head, the way she's with me, there's no space between us. She does want it. She just doesn't know how: along with her fire I can feel her being tense, nervous. She's stressed (no wonder why, it's her first time, I know it's important and stressful for her).

Let's make it less stressful, then.

I slow down; I don't want it to be all messed up and happen too quickly. I kiss her slowly and move my lips to her jaw, neck, collarbone. I'm in no rush, I let myself kiss her skin slowly, inch by inch. It's all right, I want her to feel great, no nervousness or stress on her mind.

But she's impatient (never would've guessed). Her hands on my shoulders, they drag me up, back to her. She kisses me abruptly, open and immediate kiss, our tongues and teeth collide. I'm surprised, there's this sound escaping from my throat and I feel her smiling.

So amused, are you, Hermione?

"We're in no rush," I tell her silently as I kiss her neck again.

"Speak for yourself, would you?" She sits up, takes her shirt off through her head. My mouth becomes dry as I see her, her endless beautiful skin and...

She's blushing. She's blushing so hard it makes her whole face turn red, she's looking away. No need to tell her beautiful: she knows she is, she's smart. She's just embarrassed, I guess.

I lean to her, grab her chin very gently and kiss her. Kiss her over and over, make her lay down on the bed again, touch her. Really touch her.

She shudders, she sighs and I keep going. Touch her: lightly on her belly and on her hips; she gaps when I do that. Kiss her: everywhere. My hands are on her hips, I'm slowly moving fingers. She's still shivering, but doesn't move or speak (this silence is worrisome), her hands in my hair. She lets me do it, kiss her skin everywhere I can reach, and then...

Then she makes me stop.

Pulls me up, back to her, kisses me: firmly but shortly. Her fingers are on the buttons of my shirt suddenly and she's slowly unclipping them; and once she's done she touches my stomach (cold hands), she places her hands on me, sly smile on her face. (What a witch; didn't see that one coming).

She can play and I'm willing to take the game. Let my shirt fall off, let her touch me: her hands on my stomach my chest my back my scapula my neck, everywhere. She's literally driving me crazy, making everything spin around like a bloody carousel, I moan (embarrassing, can't help myself) and I'm trying to hold still.

She chuckles and she wakes me up.

Push her: gently, very gently, but she lands on the mattress again. Cover her with my body, skin to skin; she shivers and sighs when I kiss her, and sighs again once I move my hands to her legs, then find my face buried in her neck again, kissing her skin: over and over.

She's breathing heavily, no, she barely catches her breath. She clenches her fingers on my hair, I move my mouth to her ear, bite it really gently. She moans; loudly enough to worry, but then I remember she's got the dorm on her own and she's probably got the spells on it. Nobody on the corridor should hear that, right? (Not going to worry about it anyway). 

I still move forward: kiss her chest, breasts, belly; unbutton her skirt, take it off. I'm doing it slowly as well. My hands are on her legs, skin again: up and up, no rush there, stay on her hips and move to her, kiss her; she straightens up to reach me and she doesn't let me move away, her hand on my nape. "Done with playing, are you?" she whispers before she kisses me again; shortly.

"Not quite." Must smile. Not smirk, but smile, truly smile at her: that's beautiful she is and that's how happy I am. With her. Not able to imagine to be with anyone but her, ever. 

She shakes her head, kisses me: hungrily. Then bites my lip.

I hiss, I move away, she smiles; flames in her eyes. Challenge; it's always a challenge, the most dangerous and emotional and the best challenge I've ever had.

Her legs find their way on my back again. Her arms around me, her hands on my face as we kiss. It's perfect, it's all perfect and slow. I'm not playing, no; let her be, let's do things her way, no more playing (not now, at least; in the future? Don't want to think about this, that present moment is my only life), just silence and kissing and taking clothes of. She's blushing, she's tense and can't look at me until I kiss her, grab her face in my hands. Look at her so she knows she's beautiful, more beautiful than anyone I've ever saw. The perfect image; she's not supposed to exist, people like her just don't; and yet there she is and she's with me. Not with any lucky bastard, but with me. She chose to be with me instead of being with literally anyone else. I'm chosen. 

I love her.

Kiss every inch of her; she protests as she considers it playing again, she moves nervously, she can't catch her breath, she moans quietly (tries to shut herself up; don't know why) as I'm all over her, my hands and my lips are. She's quiet, though; I must admit she's really quiet until I gently touch her entrance, that's when she moans; for the first time it's real.

I'm still not rushing, I want her to be entirely relaxed. Now she shows her impatience: her arms and legs holding me close to her, she's kissing me quickly and sturdily, almost aggresively: it's sweet and painful it's lips and tongues and teeth and saliva and problaby no air, there's nothing more between us. Kiss her ear, cheek, neck; her hands move from my neck to my shoulders. She wants to tell something, I know; request, perhaps? No need for words, I know I don't have any to describe what's happening, what I'm feeling.

But I do know what I'm doing. It's the first time in my life I just know. Is it possible to be with her and not know? I think not. I just know what's right and what to do and what I want, and what I want is to make it right for her. Make it the best.

And I do it. When my head disappears between her legs, all tensity and all fear just goes away from her. And only when I'm sure I move back to her and kiss her, again.

And she kisses me right back. 

Just like that. We're kissing for so long the rest of world along with its light and darkness vanishes, choosing to stop exisiting, leaving us. We're together, we're really together and I'm with her and she's with me and that's when I slide in.

She shouts in my mouth; I froze, letting her adjust. Our lips are parted, but still together; she breathes her oxygen to me. Want to speak, tell her something (tell her I love her and I will never stop, I would never stop loving her), ask if should I back down, but then she opens her eyes and blinks. There's pain in her eyes, there is, but it was expected from both of us: she's not surprised and she's not crying. She slowly breathes out; it seems like she's scared and I kiss her. Lightly, softly, shortly: still looking at her, my eyes don't leave hers.

It's all right. It's all right, no need to be scared or worried, it's okay (can't think I'm her first; am I really? What that even means right now?). It's going to be perfect, I promise, it's all right now. Sorry it hurted, I'm sorry about it.

Kiss her the same way once more; a few times more until she slowly breathes out again and smiles at me. Her hands on my arms, steady and sure. She nods at me.

I slide out, then back in; she winces while watching me closely (I won't hurt you). I move; slowly, gently, don't want to scare her or cause her any kind of pain. Before she learns how it works - well, it'll take time. I'm giving this time to her: I'm giving her all the time in the world and more if that's what she needs. She controls it, she's the queen of everything (of me, in that matter). She decided where it goes. Is this that way, or...

"Draco," she breathes (my name, my fucking name, oh Lord). Her hands move on my shoulders...then she raises her hips as she starts moving with me.

I'm dizzy. And I think I might be going crazy.

There's nothing but her: everything starts with her, everything ends with her. I'm sure my soul just poured into hers, I offered it, I gave it away and she accepted. Our souls are one now, our bodies are one now. We're one person - for this one moment, this one brief moment, the second in the whole galaxy, but there we are and we owe the whole universe and its legacy for this one brief moment. For this second, it belongs to us and we are everything that is there.

It's beautiful. It's all spinning and I don't think we really exist in space or time anymore; we're just above. She breathes into my ear and when I go quicker, she screams shortly and digs her nails into my skin; sound escapes from my throat unwillingly and I unintentionally make it deeper; that when the moan escapes from her the same time it escapes from me. It's the most emotional and intensive and passionate thing I've ever experienced, I don't think I'll live to experience something just similar to this. It just doesn't seem possible. It's Hermione, she makes it possible. It's only her, it's always her, there's no one but her or like her. She's herself and that's why it's so amazing.

I kiss her, she kisses me; our teeth colliding, it doesn't hurt even a little bit. Everything is crashing around us and yet there we are, living. She's so sweet and so perfect, sounds she's making are overwhelming, making it hard to see or hear or breathe. She's natural, she doesn't pretend, it's just the way she is. And it's wonderful.

My one hand in her hair, holding her head, holding her close; the other one in the pillows, it's my fist and it's the only thing that's stopping me from screaming as loud as I can. Still can feel her nails on my shoulders, she's clawning me. We're whispering the same song to each other's mouth: at her every moan, I sigh. We're making each other's whole. For the first time I feel like I'm whole, like I'm in the right shape.

Like I'm not broken anymore.

It's the end of all worlds when she comes; when we both do. I explode and so does she, we're screaming into each other's souls; I feel it in the core of my every bone, I feel it in my veins, even; when there was once an ice, there's a fire now. Don't know how is this even possible, but it is, somehow. It is.

She's holding onto me, she's trembling and sobbing. I'm holding her, but just to make sure I won't fall myself, because it feels like falling. I'm falling down with nothing to catch, I'm falling and don't wish to land or go back to the clouds. I've fallen and I'm holding her, holding onto her, won't let go; won't ever let go.

Don't ever let me go of you, Hermione.

Shaky breaths, that's what she takes. Shaky breaths right into my mouth before she wraps her arms around me, lets her head rest on my shouder. She's breathing, trying to catch her breath. She's breathing, but barely.

It takes me a minute or two to remind myself how I breathe, how I see or talk. That I have parts in my body.

I slip out; slowly, very slowly. Lay her down on the mattress; not sure what I want to do (get dressed and leave? Go to the bathroom; what for, no idea), but she grabs my hands and look at me. "You're not leaving." Her voice is hoarse, her glance is livid and flashing. She's tired, so tried (sleepy, even), but once I look at her she smiles up at me.

She smiles.

That's my work. I did it. She's still trembling, shaking, catching her breath, fighting her blushes - and she's smiling, because of what I did. (You should see yourself now, beautiful one).

Smile at her (can't stop smiling at her; how did she do that? I just can't stop, no self control here anymore). "No, I'm not."

I will stay with her, of course I will. Wake up with her on my side just this one time; the only thing I'm asking for.

She nods, calm now, and I lay down next to her. She moves; the bed is narrow (way too narrow), but it's viable. I cover her (us) with quilt and finally lay down next to her. Didn't realize how tired I was until now, I'm practically exhausted.

I'm sure I've never been happier.

She lays on me, her head on my chest, she sighs silently (is this still real?). No reason to fight with the impulse: I surround her with my arm, pull her closer to me, hug her. My head rests on the pillow, staring at the canopy. Can feel her rose perfume on me and her soft hair on my skin.

I love you. I love you so much and I want to tell you this so bad. (I'm so tired).

"Goodnight," I say quietly. 

She's not asleep yet, she moves; oh, she's moving closer. Leg to leg, hip to hip: her head on my chest, her arms around me, my hand holding her. "Yeah, goodnight."

I'm positive I've never been happier in my entire life. And I'll never feel like that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm still alive. I'm still writing.  
> I'll be honest: I don't know if you guys are even reading those notes (truth be told, I doubt that), but if you do: I wasn't going to publish this chapter. I've been writing it and then deleting it so many times I lost count. But you know what? This is my version of the story, showing how much - in my opinion - Draco loves Hermione and how Hermione learned to see him as a better man. I published it because this is how I wanted to write this; this is what I wanted to write. And I'm trying my best in this and for me, it makes sense.  
> Hope it will make sense to you, too. Really. And if it doesn't - well. No hate, that's what I'm asking for.   
> Thanks for the Kudos, though. Thank you very much, really. I love you.


	18. Walk away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt like being alive. I won't ever be able to forget it.

I leave before she wakes up (have to; can't talk about my emotions, obviously).

She hurts me and I don't mind; not directly, though, but being away from her hurts and I don't mind this pain. She can hurt me any time she wishes to, I don't care. I love this kind of pain, I really don't care.

But I can't hurt her. I promised myself I wouldn't hurt her more than I already did and I broke this promise, so I leave the note.

I'm sorry. That's all it says. 

Could've said anything: You're amazing, you're beautiful, I don't know how I'll manage without seeing you every day after finishing Hogwarts. I love you, I always have. I think I will love you forever. Actually, I'm sure I will.

I don't say it. I'm just sorry, like I always am.

And so I leave, like I always do.

***

"Where were you last night?"

Stop right there, glance over my shoulder. Can't say I had much sleep last night (it didn't take that long and I won't ever admit it, but I spent probably half of the night just listening to Hermione's calm breathing) and would very much have some more, somewhere when Blaise won't interrupt me with his, "I'll find out where you've been anyway, my friend!".

"Astoria." I'm almost always happy to see her, but...not now. "Don't really have time, I—"

"You are going to lie to me and I don't want to hear it," she snorts and grabs my arm, leading me through corridors. "You look exhausted and you've been absent all evening and all night, you even weren't at dinner, which tells very clearly how you spent your night."

"Is that so?" I look exhausted and I feel this way, I'm dreaming of really good, long sleep. I let Astoria lead me, wherever she wishes to. I don't even care at this point.

"Yes, it means you've spend a night making a huge mistake and I want you to tell me about it," Astoria continues, "and then I'll let you sleep. Somewhere where Blaise won't interrupt you with his yelling and chatting and laughing."

I drank coffee, I'm still awake. I'm trying to be more mentally sober though, trying to understand everyting perfectly; be even more aware. I smile and glance at her. "Glad to know you understand the situation."

"Draco Malfoy smiling without a reason?" she shakes her head. "Tell me you didn't—you know, whole night—"

"None of your business," I tell her harshly (I've never been the one boasting about how I spend my nights; well, perhaps at the beginning, when I was still very young). "But for the peace of your sweet mind: no, I did not. I'm just—tired."

Of emotions. My very own self makes me insane and I'm nearly dead; in fact, I believe last night I really died and then came back to life, all thanks to Hermione. I'm resurrected, I'm reborn man now.

Astoria is right, though: can't smile so often, not without any reason. It's not at all my style, I clear my throat and glance at her more coldly. "And now: why do you want to know? I'd like to go back to sleep, thank you very much—"

"Because I'm the voice of rationality in your head, Draco, we both know I am. Which means I need to know and you need to tell me," she smiles mischievously. "Besides, have you seen Pansy's face? I'm planning to be the one upsetting her for the whole next month!"

"Cruel thing," I shake my head, then frown. Pansy helped me. She hates Granger, doesn't even want me near her, and yet she helped me a lot. Even though Astoria has her (very good) reasons to play with her... "I'd prefer if you left her alone, actually. Pansy helped me. She doesn't need to be upset more than she already is."

"Are we talking about the same Pansy Parkinson? Why are you so merciful for her, all of sudden?" Astoria frowns. "What did she help you with?"

Can I really tell her? It's Astoria, I can basically tell her everything, but this...Hermione... "Granger," I say honestly (after a while).

Astoria's eyebrows raise at me. Not at all judgingly, she also doesn't laugh. She just watches me, worried. "Granger, eh? Thought you were going to stay away." Her voice is gentle, careful. 

"That was my intent, yes."

"What changed your mind?"

Hermione, obviously. Who else could possibly change my mind? Only Hermione herself.

No idea what's going to be next, though. Live happily ever after? Run away together? None of those is even an option, it's just not possible. I have to come up with something else, make up my mind, but...I don't think I'm the right person for her. I told her this before: she deserves better, someone rich and kind and gentle...

Why did I do that? Why didn't I just leave this goddamn room? For God's sake...

I shrug. "It just—sort of happened, I guess."

"Nothing just sort of happens for you," Astoria protests. "What happened? It must've been something great, since you decided to—"

"Chance the subject, would you? You can take me to the The Room of Requirement, but if you don't want to I'll find the way myself and I'll see you later."

"I still don't know what happened!"

"Because you don't need to," roll my eyes. "Nothing that would change my life, I can assure you."

"Really?" Astoria stops, crosses her arms (she thinks this is going to make me talk? Laugable). "Then why Granger is coming our way right now, looking like she wants to murder you?"

Turn around. Oh, bloody hell.

It's not a joke, Granger is really coming my way right now, with her face crude and sharp. She really doesn't look pleased and this time I can easily say I understand her. Why would she be? She feels (and thinks) I played her, used her (I didn't, I would never). She feels tricked and she really wants to kill me, literally: I'm sure she's ready to repeat that epic punch from third year. Lord save me (no saving for me though, never).

Astoria pats my shoulder (a little bit mockingly, I think). "Good luck with that, Draco. Oh, no need to tell me where you've been last night anymore."

"Really?" I can barely look away from Hermione; even for a brief moment to glare at Astoria at my side.

"Sure. It's painted all over your face."

She leaves before Hermione comes up to me.

Try to smirk, stay nonchalant and negligent (not the best choice at the moment, but the safest one for sure). "Good morning, Granger."

"Malfoy." Looks at me, her gaze is burning. "Anything you want to tell me?"

So that would be it, no more masks.

I sighs, lean against something; need my balance. Can't look straight into her eyes...no, I have to. I look at her calmly. "Just that I didn't—it wasn't any game, if that's what you're afraid of. And I didn't mean—" Clear my throat. "Let me make it clear: I told you why is it impossible. Which is why—I apologize, I guess. Didn't mean to put you in situation like that."

"What situation?" she snorts. "We're just allies, aren't we? We're both clear like that."

She doesn't want to talk about last night. How come? She looked angry a few moments ago, how come she doesn't...

Nod very slowly (is this some kind of a trap? That would be fair, I must say this). "Yes, I think we are."

"So, I came to tell you I checked the address you gave me. Muggle magic." (Is she provoking me? I won't make a joke about that).

There's no way on this earth I did it wrong. It can't be wrong. "What about that?"

"It seems like likely one. It's not much, but it's both city and district and I think it's correct, I think—they're there, yes." She raises her chin, looks at me warmly. "I'm going to find them as I finish Hogwarts," she adds with determination. 

"I'd expect nothing more," I tell her, because that's Hermione Granger: determination and fire and nobleness. "Good luck with that." Time for being rude and arrogant has passed, I'm afraid I can't come back now. 

"Yeah, I'm going to need it," she says, shrugging lightly. "Especially if I want you to come with me."

Blink. Quickly. (What?) Many times. (What did she say?) I'm not sure if I heard her correctly. (WHAT). No, I must've understood her wrong, it's not possible under this sun for this woman to tell me...just, no. I don't think it's happening, definitely not. Oh, I can see the headlines: Draco Malfoy finally going insane because of voices in his head.

Blink again. "Beg your pardon?"

"You've got better plans, Malfoy?" she sneers, but it's kind sneer. Polite one. She's almost smiling (at me).

"You want me to come—with you? To Australia?"

What the hell is happening? What the actual hell? How is this possible? What is she doing, is she out of her mind? What the—

"You helped me with an address," she says, this time all gentle and calm. "You practically gave it to me after my months of searching. My best guess is it'll go better if you come with me. I want you to help me."

Me. Yes, I helped more than anyone, but what about Weasel and his sister and Potter? They're her best friends, her family. They would be supportive, they would comfort her. She would be better with them.

But she wants my help. She's smart. She knows I helped her and she knows I would do it again. She knows I'm more helpful than her friends, even though they'd be a lot better companions, I'm sure. And yet...it's me.

And I will help her. Oh, Hermione, anything for you. (God, that's so embarrassing).

I nod: briefly and just once. I'm sure my face is a stone, but I also know she won't be scared. (Was she ever scared of me? I think not). "All right. Sure."

She raises her narrow eyebrows. "So you'll come with me?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" I mock. "Yes, I officialy tell you I will come with you, Granger." If that's what you want, then it's exactly what I'm going to do.

"Good," she nods. "I don't know how long it's going to take, though."

"I'm not worried about that." I watch her closely; why me? It's rational decision, it's always for her, but it's...strange. Why me, Hermione? "Your friends know?"

"Ginny does. Harry and Ron—no, not yet." She tilts her head, frowns. "Why would you ask?"

I can't help my amusement this time, I'm not able to hide it. "Perhpas I'll be the one to kill the Boy Who fucking Lived after all. I'm sure Potter is going to have an apoplexy the second he finds out."

She rolls her eyes, irritated. "Good to know you're still yourself, Malfoy."

Hell yes I am, this one night with you hasn't changed me.

But it has, though. A little bit, I mean. I look at her and it's not possible to not thinkabout the way she kissed me, the way she sighed, the way she smiled at me. How it felt to kiss her, be around her. I'm sure I won't ever forget it, till the day I bloody (finally) die.

It felt like being alive, like finally being good. I won't ever be able to forget it.

I shrug and then she squints. "Why are you looking at me like that, Malfoy?"

"That's just my usual gaze, Granger."

She shakes her head. "No, it's not."

No, she's right. It's not. I look at her, remembering all this. Does she know? Probably. She always knows everything; I could get used to it.

Some extra time with her in Australia. It's like a dream coming true, being able to be in her comopany for some long time. "It's just—I guess I want to apologize."

"Oh." She's still frowning. "And don't you want to tell me why you found this location?"

"I told you yestarday."

"We both know you lied."

I let her get to know me, I show her who I truly am - well, part of it. She wasn't supposed to know it, to see it, to wonder about it. I shouldn't have...

I sigh. "I apologize for confusing you. And playing with you. But it's just who I am, Granger, I'm a bloody bastard and a lunatic, as you poetically put it."

The corners of her lips twitches. "I never said you're a bloody lunatic."

Fuck, I've been spending too much time with her. I almost smile. "But I will go with you and help you."

"Excellent, then. And your parents—"

What the hell? "They don't have a damn thing to say about all of this," the words rule me and come from my mouth before I can stop them. That hasn't happened for a long time, I'm really puzzled.

She nods. She's still looking at me, with her questional gaze, and I raise eyebrow at her...just when she comes closer and I become all tense again. (Her voice, her lips, her eyes; her smiles and the spark in her eyes, the softness of her hair; I remember it all). "Smile."

Weird thing to ask for, but anything for her (I'm one pathetic creature), always. I smirk.

She frowns. "Not like that, Malfoy."

I'm serious again, I sigh heavily (I really need to sleep). "It takes a lot of effort to make me really smile, Granger. Sorry." (I'm always sorry, huh?)

She stands tiptoe, suddenly my face is in her tiny hands. Her face is so close...too close. Her existence is all around me again, I may give up any moment. "What about now?"

I don't change my face. I appreciate her effort, her faith in me, but I can't really change. And so, I give her one of my coldest looks and take her hands away from me. "Granger, don't."

"What—"

"Please, don't." My voice gets softs and I don't care. "Last night—I wanted this, but it never should've happened, you know it better than I do, you're bloody Know-It-All. You deserve better. Someone much, much better. And so, I'll help you. Obviously. I'll go with you. But nothing more."

She nods. Only once, and no arguing; strange, since it's all we've been doing for years: bickering. She's not the type of person that lets go, she never have, and yet...now she does. "Good. We're clear, then. I want a good, happy relationship with a person I'll marry someday. One day, obviously. But I want you to help me, since you're the one who truly can."

"And I will."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She's welcome. Nothing to thank me for; never. Don't deserve her, or her thanks, or...

I really need some long, goddamn sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really late when I'm writing this, I'm exhausted. They could be mistakes in it, they probably will be. Sorry about it.  
> Love ya, thanks for Kudos ^^


	19. Won't lose you again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broken. Damaged. A lunatic.

"Oi, Malfoy!"

Oh Lord, not now.

Just when I was about to have some peace. Sit with Blaise, Theo, Astoria; people I consider close to me. Be happy about the fact I'm after NEWTs and there's nothing left for me to be done. And tell those three people I'm coming to Australia with Granger, obviously. Think about my last visit in Malfoy Manor; get some rest before I do t. 

But no. Golden Trio have been ruining all of my planes since the moment I met them; why is it surprising they still do?

It's more like a Golden Duo now, though. Granger's not with them, but her best friend Weaselette replaces her, walking arm to arm with her brother and her boyfriend. I'm not really fond of her after her and Blaise's story and I literally cannot stand Weasel's face.

I know what they want.

"It didn't take you long to come to me to talk about it, did it?" I stop and turn to them, waiting. "Very well. Get this over it, but if Weasel won't be nice, I'm going to punch him in the teeth."

"And I will punch you right back," Weaselette grows.

"Guys, easy. We're not here to fight," Potter calms them down before he turns to me and his eyes become really cold (I'm impressed). "You're going to Australia. Hermione didn't want to put any of us in danger and she also trusts you, for some reason. We know you helped her, but we also know you happened to be a scum in the past and you're going to be alone with her for a few weeks."

I nod. Just once.

"Hermione can protect herself, we call know that; from you and from any kind of danger," Potter continues. "But be sure, Malfoy, that if she cries one tear or be in danger just one time, we will all kill you. First Ginny, then Ron, then me. And we'll be only the first ones in the very long queue."

God. Why so goddamn obvious? Roll my eyes, I just have to, can't stop the impulse. "Thank you very much, Captain Potter. Thank you for making this all clear. Anything else?"

"Just watch over her, you scumbag," Weasel growls. "And be sure we'll be the ones watching you."

Glance at im scornfully, he grimaces. "Sure thing, Weasel."

Potter clears his throat suddenly. "Gin, Ron, could you leave us for a sec?"

Now I'm intrigued.

I watch Weasel rolling his eyes and walking away; I watch his sister giving me death glare and promising that she will skin me alive if I hurt Hermione or won't keep her safe or try anything at all with her, and then I watch her kissing Potter and walking away as well.

"Some kind girlfiend you have," I say. "But if you wanted us to be alone, Scar Boy, you could've just asked."

"You're just hilarious today, aren't you, Malfoy?" He huffs. "First thing: I mean what I said. What we all said. Just—"

"Merlin's beard, Potter, save me this emotional nonsense. I won't hurt her, you moron, I'm going there to help her, not to murder her." Roll my eyes. "Second thing?"

"I know your friend Zabini wanted to try something with Gin."

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Look away (what do I say? Fuck). Sigh. "Potter, it's—complicated. But I can assure you Blaise neither wanted to just sleep with her nor—well, he did want you two to break up, but—"

"Ginny told me what he told her—thing he hasn't told you," Potter says. "He wanted to convince her, to have faith in him. If she could, that would somehow mean, I don't know—he's not a lost cause."

Blaise, you poor idiot.

"He's in trauma, Potter."

"As we all are. And I'm not saying I'm mad. Truth be told, it's not difficult to fall in love with Ginny. Just—thought you should know. Your friend needs help." He falls silent for a brief moment. "In fact, I think we all do, but Zabini won't realize it without you."

"Why would you care?" I look up at him, glare at him. Trying to be hero again? (That would be no surprise).

And then he smiles weakly. "You all used to be scums before, can't disagree, but you didn't deserve any of what happened to you. And you deserve to get some help after things you were forced to see and do. So does your friend."

Saint Potter, officialy forgiving me. And trying to bloody understand. The world is ending, I'm sure.

When he turns to walk away, I add calmly, "I will watch over Granger, I promise."

Potters nods before he leaves me.

 

"Would you tell me already?"

Blaise turns to me. "Tell you what, exactly?"

I sigh heavily before I speak again.

It feels strange - I never thought I'd come back to Hogwarts, but when I was leaving it a year ago, it was such a mess. Now I just know that I won't come back, I graduated. No more lessons and food in Great Hall and moving stairs and sharing my room with Blaise. It's over - and it feels strange, watching this dormitory when all of our things are packed. Empty bookshelves, desks, beds. It almost look like a strange place to me.

But Blaise is not a stranger. He doesn't fit into the picture, standing in this dorm that has no signs that would be a proof we ever lived here (excluding our signatures on our desks and the curtains we have to repair after Blaise accidently burned them) and he's everything I focus on. "We're graduating tomorrow. It's been days since I told you about me going to Australia and—"

"And what? You've been avoiding me in the exact same way I've been avoiding you," he laughs, but it's not amused laugh it's all. He's angry. "Then why would I want to—"

"I know, Blaise," I say. "What you wanted from Wea—from Ginny Weasley."

He's as surprised as only he can be, but still remains calm. Leans on the column of the bed that was his for all these years, tilts his head lightly. "She told you?"

I stay silent. Let him figure it out. 

"Nah. She wouldn't. Potter told you; it was obvious he'd know." He sighs. "So, let's begin with your lecture, shall we?"

"There will be no lecture," I growl. How could he even think that? I'm practically offended. "I just think you need help. We all do. We can't just walk to the Ministry or wherever we're going to work at and think of ourselves as trash."

"I personally think I'm fabulous, but—"

"Blaise."

He stops. I know him too well and he's aware of that. 

He sighs. "Meaning—you'll eventually get some help, too? Those nightmares—"

"Are nothing I couldn't handle." Lie. "But I think I might do something about it, once I come back to England."

"Good, that's good," he nods. "And—you and Granger?"

Finally. Have been wondering when he's going to ask me about this little thing. "I'm just going to help her, since she asked me about it, but nothing more. I told her that. We both agreed she deserves better."

"Yeah, better," he scoffs. "Why become someone better when you can tell her to find it in someone else?"

Well, this talk probably wasn't the best idea. I suspect I may become furious at any moment. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"For the love of God!" he shouts so loudly I really jump. "You've been madly in love with this girl since the second you laid your eyes on her! And now this is your chance to tell her everything, explain it to her, and you—"

"It won't change—"

"It would change everything!"

"And that's the exact opposite of what I want!" I growl at him, really fighting the impulse to grab my wand. Who the hell he thinks he is to say those things? "I've been confusing her whole damn year! Hasn't she got through enough? She deserves better. Someone calm, peaceful, kind. Struggling with someone like me? Are you mad, Zabini? What a horrific idea is that!" 

It really is. Seeing real me, more than she's already seen, it would probably broke her. She's Granger: she would stay up all night, thinking about it, fighting with herself. And I don't want that for her.

"The horrific idea is to give up on her," Blaise growls right back; I've known him for so long and there were only a few times I could see him this angry. "You know what Hermione deserves? Someone who loves her strongly and madly, the way you do. And I doubt she'll find it in anyone else."

That's...that's not right.

I could never do that to her. Hurt her like that. She doesn't deserve this kind of mess; she's coming to Australia for her happy ending, I'm not going to spoil it.

But right now, I've got no words (that's really rare). "I—"

"Be a better man for her, Draco. For both of you." Blaise's gaze and voice get soft, he looks at me really warmly and sensitively. "I know you want to. Do I really need to say this aloud?"

"I can't—" I say, but then I just stop right there. 

Once I realize I can. 

I'm broken. I'm damaged. I killed a person. I hurted a thousands of others. But it doesn't mean I can't try - for her. She's worth everything and I want to give it to her so bad. 

Broken. Damaged. A lunatic. But no so broken I can't pull myself together into some kind of good human being for her. Because...I think I can.

I want to.

For her. Only for her. So I could make her happy, make her feel loved like she deserves to feel. Not with Weasel, not with Krum. 

Oh, damn it. I just can't stay away. I can't stop fighting.

She has a faith in me. Hermione Jean Granger, the brightest witch of her age, has a faith in me. I can see that she has. And she wouldn't if she didn't see something in me, if she didn't think there is a slight, little chance

I'm coming with you, Hermione.

And I will try.

 

"Draco."

Nod when I hear my name.

I'd definitely like to go to Australia straight away or at least go to the hotel with Hermione - but it's not possible. She's got her goodbye party at Weasleys' place and I was going to handle my business anyway. 

It's my father's office again and (it makes me really sad, truth be told) he looks better. A lot better. This, however, can't be said about my mother, who's really skinny, I can see her cheekbones and collarbone, her skin is as thin as an old parchment. She's the one looking ill now.

But she still greets me warmly and I hug her longer than I should, because I'm not sure if I'll be ever able to do that again after the words I'm about to say. 

Guess it's my first step on path to redemption. Doubt that I'll get it in the end, I'm working on it way too late, but I want to believe the first step is important. It should be and I'll think it is. (Hermione would definitely say it is, I think).

"You graduated, then!" My mother is cheery, or at least she's trying to be. "That's great, Draco. How did NEWTs go?"

"I did very well, I suppose. When I come back, I'll start working at Gringotts."

Not Ministry, like my father and his father before him. 

But Lucius Malfoy doesn't hear that. He raises his eyebrows (intrigued) as he repeats, "Come back? Are you planning on going somewhere, Draco?"

(Always hated it when he was speaking my name, especially in this way: cold mockery in his voice, it's contemptuous indulgence). 

Here it comes.

"I'm going to Australia for some time," I tell them. "With Hermione Granger. I'm helping her with some business."

Silence.

I used to love it, especially after the war, but in this office - well, I know what it means. My parents exchange looks, so I carry on, "I won't find myself a spouse, dear parents. I'm sorry about it, but there's no right woman for me. Well, maybe in the future, but I doubt that. If Hermione refuses to me, I'll probably have no wife at all."

I actually can't picture Hermione looking at me like a man she could be with in any form (friend, boyfriend, spouse, whatever). And I know that even if she won't run away after I tell her everything and open myself to her, it's rather impossible that she agrees to be with me. She's starting to fall for me, I know that (she smelled my colognes in her Amortentia), but it doesn't mean she'll let her heart rule. I know she won't, she's not that kind of person. I respect that; admire that, even.

But it's worth a try. Shame I needed Blaise to help me realize that. 

"A mudblood," my father says too quietly. "You want to marry a mudblood."

I want her to be in my company for now, at least. If she ever - even after decades - will want to be with me, that will be splendid; though I can't even imagine myself getting married to anyone. 

Surprise, father.

"Over my dead body you will," he hisses. When he looks at me, his face is furious; snowstorm. "You are a Malfoy, you come from the greatest—"

"Wizard family? Do you really believe that?" I found myself being amused and I can't hold it back anymore; it all pours out, just like that. "We're a family of Death Eaters, thanks to you! We've got no privilages, because you couldn't do one damn thing: protect your goddamn family! If it takes your dead body, so be it then. There's nothing you could do to stop me, father. Not anymore. Sorry you realize it so late, but here is goes: I am not your son anymore and there's nothing you can say or do to make me respect you or want to see you ever again. My foot will not stand in this house, where so much blood was shed. Neither will my future child's."

If I'll ever have one.

"You want to disinherit me? Do it. I'm really curious who'll have the family name, the fortune, who will make our name come to its former glory, because there are no Malfoys or Blacks anymore. There's only me, no one else to rebuild this family's reputation. I'm your last hope." I slam my hands on the desk. "And if I ever hear you said the word 'mudblood' again, I will come back and make sure you choke with it." 

There it is. I did it. I (finally) said it. (Oh my Lord).

Never thought this would be so easy. Why didn't I do if before? (Bloody coward). I turn to my mother, pale and terrified. I kiss her on the check. "I love you. And if you'll ever feel like you want to how am I or what I'm doing, let me know. I won't ignore your letter, I promise."

She nods and doesn't take her eyes off me when I leave the office.

My father doesn't say a word.


	20. Holding onto nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if that's what being proud of someone feels like.

"Are you alright?"

Our apartment is huge (and coming from the man who used to live in mansion, that says a lot, I think). Two bedrooms, dining and living room with windows that show us the infinite sea. I've lived in luxus my whole life, and yet I manage to feel impressed. All of this is in a really good style, present-day and beautiful, it just calms me down.

It's big enough I can't hear Hermione's words clearly until she comes to my bedroom, stops right in the door like she was stopped by some magic force. I turn around and smirk at her, quite amused. "I didn't put a spell on it, Granger, you may come in."

She rolls her eyes and walks in, but stays in the safe distance from me. "You've been really quiet since we met this morning. Tired by the time difference?"

Caring, even when a person doesn't deserve that (I certainly don't). I fall on my bed and can't see her face anymore. "I visited Malfoy Manor yesterday."

Silence. Really long one, before she lets go of a short, "Oh."

"It was my last visit in this house."

She hesitates, but she wouldn't be herself if she didn't ask, "And how did it go?"

"Not really great."

"May I ask what did you tell them?"

"That I'm in Australia. Helping you."

She's silent again, but not for that long. "Will your father disinherit you?"

"I don't know. He doesn't have anyone but me, unless he wants our fortune go to Notts; meaning it'll still belong to me, because of Theo." It's boring and depressing. I turn to her and almost smile the second I lay my eyes on her, standing so close (have to control myself, for God's sake). "We're not here to talk about my family drama, Granger, because this one in endless. We're going to fix your family's drama, isn't it correct?"

She shakes her head. "Just look at you, Malfoy. You're in another country and you're suddenly all different."

"No need to worry, I'm still going to make you all nervous and tense. You always blush in my presence, did you know that?"

She squints at me...and blushes. "We need to go to the district you mentioned. Move."

"Granger," I stop her when she wants to leave the room. "Don't you want to use hairbrush first?"(It was a bad one, I love her hair).

She glares at me furiously and slams my own door before she leaves. I can still hear her murmuring, though; but I can only recognize, "Bastard."

It's going to be interesting.

***

We've gone through all houses in this specific district in Brisbane, but not a sign of Grangers. Hermione's sad and my hand is dying from knocking to so many doors, so after walking through all of this we just give up and come back to hotel in this sad, silent darkness. She's disappointed, she's not able to hide that. Truth be told, I think I was always capable of seeing right through her; and the other way around.

"We'll look for them tomorrow," I tell her. I'm not good at comforting and cheering people up (I'm terrible at this; why didn't I talk to Blaise about it before I left?), but I can always try. "And day after that, and day after that. No rush, really. They're probably somewhere in this city."

"Probably," she repeats, her voice really tired. "I know you said I can't be sure they'd be here, but still—I just miss them."

No doubt she does. I remember them from Diagon Alley: they looked a little scared and confused, but their eyes very full of love every time they looked at her; it was so clear they're really proud of her, that she's the little ray of sunshine in their lives. They must've loved her very much and were always trying to make her happy.

I'm going to make sure they will again.

"We've got plenty of time, Granger," I say once more. "You'll find them eventually."

She sighs. It's the moment we walk into our apartment. "I know. Goodnight, Malfoy."

"Yeah." I watch her walk, I watch her close the door.

I hear it when she starts crying.

***

"It's been a week," she says. "And it's still—"

"Granger, would you just shut up for a second?" I'm not a gentleman, I'm aware, but most of the time I'm trying not to be such a douchebag to her; it's not difficult, but this time I lose it. "This city is huge. They must be here somewhere."

"You're really optimistic," she huffs.

"And you should be, too. You're in goddamn Australia, Granger, show some enthusiasm!"

"Look who's talking."

Roll my eyes. She can be one annoying little witch, but I love her company. I can't get enough of it, literally. Of her. 

And I also can't stand to hear her cry every night. I want to make her laugh, I want her to be happy. And I really hope we'll find her parents in the end.

But, until we do...

"Where are we, exactly?" she finally opens her eyes and looks around at the beach restaurant.

"Can't let you spend another evening in our apartment, crying. These walls are thin, you know? I can't sleep."

She glares at me, really unpleased. "You're a prat and an arsehole, Malfoy. Has anyone told you that before?"

"Multiple times. It was mostly you," I smirk.

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't snarl anything in return. I know she's very aware of the fact she needs some distraction, she needs some fun. She's so stressed she's practically not sleeping at all.

"Tomorrow we'll go to the beach," I tell her, watching her sipping her wine after we take our seats, "and we'll search there. It's possible there will be leads. And we will. Find. Them. Correct?"

She shakes her head and sighs. "Correct. Why are you so stubborn, though? I thought I'd be the one fighting with you and convicing you to—"

I turn off. Watching her, I just...stop. She's so beautiful and so tired and...God, why did she have to do that? Forced to protect her parents, to send them away, make them forget everything about her.

"Malfoy? I asked you a question."

Typical. I don't smile or smirk when I reply, "Because you shouldn't have the responsibility to protect them and hurt yourself that way. They should remember you and know you. And you deserve to have them around."

I drink my wine; can't stand her gaze.

It's so silent, but she finally speaks. She grabs her glass and looks straight into my eyes (oh damn, Malfoy, control). "Who would have thought. Draco Malfoy can be a really nice man."

Only for you, Hermione. And believe me, it's one difficult job. "Well, when you're not cheered up, your company is tremendously boring."

She laughs. She really laughs out loud and I almost smile when we tap our glasses. 

 

"What do you think you're doing?"

I send her a lazy smile when she stands in front of me, frowning. "What do you mean, Granger? It's so typical of you, asking so many nonsense questions."

She frowns her nose (adorable). "It's my sunbed, Malfoy, and now it's all wet. Thanks to you. What a gentleman you are."

I shrug. "You weren't on it."

"If you were so kind and funny all the time and not only this one last night, then life would be a literal heaven."

"Oh, Granger, look at you. Your image of heaven means just me, being kind and funny. How moving is that?"

"Bastard." She loves using that word, I figured. She tilts her head. "I'm going to swim. And you're going with me."

"I just came back."

"Didn't you promise Harry you'd watch over me? What if I drown?"

Of course he told her. I sigh. "I agreed on helping you, Granger, and that's exactly what I'm doing. I even help you in staying in your faith! But it doesn't apply to me being your babysitter."

"I don't need one. I just want to know if it's true you dye your hair; you know, your friend Blaise was talking."

For the sake of God...

"Granger, it's—"

She grabs my hands suddenly and pulls me up; I'm standing right in front of her, her warm skin touches mine (thank Lord I can't blush). She grins at me and it doesn't seem like something safe. It's like watching a sun from way too short distance. "My sunbed is ruined. My sunbathing is ruined. I just wanted to lay down for a sec, figure out a way to find my parents, and you—"

"Alright, alright! Let's just go, Granger." I sound angry and she frowns, but I'm really not. I just want her to step aside, to let go of my hands and move away. Because the sparks in her eyes, her grin, her wanting me to go with her...

I'm dizzy. And confused. I'm not used to the things like this, it's just...strange. I think I might be scared. Is that what people do? I've been friends with Blaise since forever, I had (still have) Pansy and Theo and Astoria, too, but things like that...Zab would probably find it amusing, he'd definitely love it, but I just feel like I'm a bloody rabbit caught in the trap.

And I can't get out. She doesn't let go, she just holds my hands and pulls me toward the sea. "You owe me, Malfoy."

I know (I'll always owe you, Hermione).

She lets go the second we come to the water, only because she touches it. She's in the water to her knees, walking slowly, so I just leave her like that (I know she won't really drow; I could, truth be told, I learned to swim really late, Blaise is the only one who knows). 

When I come back, she's still walking. "What the hell, Granger?" I emerge just next to her.

She shivers and smiles pale. "Maybe they're somewhere in the ocean. I mean, all these people—"

"There's no one near," I point out. I stand and then I realize, the moment I notice her fingers twitching. "You're cold." Fuck, did she catch a cold? I'm really not up to be a babysitter, I remember how I was watching over her in her dorm. It didn't lead me (us) to anything good.

"No, I'm not, it's just—the water's cold."

No way. Mighty Hermione Granger, defeated by Coral Sea. 

I tell her that and she squints, frustrated. "Very funny, Malfoy. I just need a moment—"

I don't get it. I mean I seriously cannot understand it: the fact I was so scared when she touched me, when she pulled me with her to swim, and now I'm the one coming closer to her and I'm not afraid of what might happened.

She looks at me alarmed, though. "Malfoy, what are you doing? Don't you dare—"

Oh, but I dare. I grab her and throw her right into the water.

She surfaces in the next second, furious: with her face red and her eyes sparkling like little flames, and with her curls all around. I hold my hand to my mouth really tight, because I almost laugh when I see her like that.

Dear Lord, I almost laughed.

"I am going to murder you."

No, she's not, but I let her: I let her pull me into water, I let her ruin my perfect hairstyle. I let her do whatever she wants and I follow her even when she leaves me and swims away, because as long as I can hear her laugh, it's all perfectly alright. I can't even see her scar when she's swimming and laughing, shining in this sun, and I think she can't see it either. I think she didn't forget, but doesn't care at this one moment.

I wonder if that's what being proud of someone feels like (I guess so).

 

"You're still a bastard, Malfoy." 

Granger is really a master of organization (she's master of everything, if I'm being honest). She packs our things so quickly I barely have time to blink. "No matter how kind you are, you're still a bastard."

"And a prat," I add, because that's the name she likes calling me, too. I practically smile when I see her in this cute bun on her head. "Here, Granger. Let me help."

"Thanks." She lets me (I'm surprised), but doesn't pay attention to me. She just looks on the sea and sighs, probably thinking about her parents. Lord, I can only imagine the pain.

I honestly have no idea where else could we look. Perhaps we should just go to the mayor or someone like that? I pick up the bag, make her look at me. "Granger, look, I think—"

She shakes her head, her tanned face suddenly becomes white. I grab her arm gently, her skin is practically burning. "I still believe they're here, just—"

"No, Malfoy, no!" She shakes her head and steps aside, far away for me to reach her. "It's my mum!"

I turn around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A weak one, I know. I'm aware. But I guess I needed to write this.  
> Love ya


	21. Never thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dance with me.

We've been following this woman for five alleys now. I think Granger might be going a little crazy (I wouldn't be surpised if she was, honestly; in her position I'd lost my mind a long time ago), but the longer I watch this stranger, the more I find similarities in her. Her hair is way darker than Hermione's, but they're the exact same curls. She walks with her head up and her chin raised, she's walking like she's so confident that nobody would even think about crossing her when she's having a bad day. And yet, there's some gentleness in her, too. She nods her head to a few people she's passing, she greets them in a warm way. 

And Hermione's so sure. She's shaking a little bit, but not letting her eyes of this woman's back; she almost bumped into the lantern a few times. And I guess I'm as sure as she is.

The woman stops in the district near to the sea, the one we've been to before. I glance quickly at Hermione, wondering if she recognized it, but she doesn't look back. 

Woman goes to the porch of the really small house; I didn't notice it before, it's pressed between too larges buildings. Their lights are so intense that's practically impossible to notice another edifice, so small and dark. It's literally like trying to notice a shadow in the sea of darkness. Only someone who's living in there would see it.

And she does. She walks in: we hear the voices, the greetings and then there's silence and darkness again.

We stop, the street is empty. I turn her to me, I look at her face closely. She's really pale and she's shaking. "We know where it is, now." Is it comforting? I hope it is. "We can come back here another day if you want to."

"No—no." She shakes her head decisively. "There's no way. I've been looking for so long—I need to see them, Draco. I need to talk to them.

(Draco. She called me—)

I nod. If that's what she wants, so be it. I let her go, let her walk. I'm just the follower. 

It crosses my mind that perhaps she wants to be alone when she sees them, talks to them, makes them remember her again. Before I have the chance to ask her that she knocks on the door really loudly. 

It opens up immediately. "Yes?" A young blonde girls glares first at Hermione and then at me, and then back at her. "Who are you?" Her accent is really strong, Australian.

Hermione's so stunned she's not even able to speak.

I take a step forward. "Good evening. We're sorry to disturb you, but—"

"Oh, you're from England?" She relaxes a little bit. "Mon, I guess this one's for you!"

Just behind her back we see this woman we've been following and I'm hit by how similar she is to Hermione. It's Hermione's eyebrows, lips and nose. It's the same silhouette as well, they're both short and slim. 

"Yes?" The blonde girl walks away, I can hear her talking to someone, and it's just us and the woman (Monica) now. "How can I help you?" Her eyes move from me to Hermione, no sign of memory on her face. She has no idea that this young woman in front of her is her own daughter. (I feel like I might throw up at any moment now).

"We're really sorry to disturb you, but we're looking for your husband, Wendell," Hermione says. Her voice is shaking; I can't see her face.

"Oh, Wendell?" There's sadness on Monica's face. "He passed away, it's almost a year now. Did you know him?"

I'm sure a slap would hurt Hermione less.

I can't imagine what it feels like, but if I was looking for my mother and find out she's dead...I'd be devastated. Not able to live on with the knowledge that she's gone and I didn't even get to say goodbye.

Before I can think clearly I put my arm around Hermione, I pull her to myself. She leans on me and when she coughs I can tell she's on the verge of tears. (Oh, fuck).

This is not what we were expecting. Not at all. I never thought—

"Mon, what's going on?" A man appears, he stands right next to Hermione's mother and glances at us both really suspiciously.

"It's alright, Jim, they're from England. They knew Wendell." She looks at Hermione, her face full of warmness and concern. She's waiting for her to say something, but this won't happen, Hermione just nods. She's not able to say a word.

"I'm sorry, I can imagine that's not what you were expecting," her mother says nicely. "How about you two come in? You look like you need to sit down, dear." Her last words are directly towards Hermione, while the man next to her watches her, frowning. 

Ah, he noticed it. The similarities between them. And he does not like it.

I squeeze Hermione's arm really gently the moment when she suddenly speaks, "No, thank you. We don't want to disturb you anymore. And I'm really sorry—for your loss."

"Oh." Monica's face is full of surprise. "Well, are you sure—"

"Yes, yes. Sorry again. Have a good evening." Hermione retreats and turns around, and before I know she's already walking away.

I nod quickly to Jean and Jim before I run after her. And when I do, she's already crying.

I don't know what to say. How to comfort her, how to hold her. And so, I just don't. I just take us to the apartment.

 

The sudden noise almost causes me a goddamn heart attack. I was sure Hermione would just go to her bedroom and cry all night while I'd be alone, trying to figure out some way to help her - but no, nothing like that. When I come to the living room she's already there: all windows open, sea breeze is playing with her hair and she raises up with her face red and triumphant, holding my firewhisky.

Oh, Lord, no.

"I knew you have it hidden somewhere," she says. Her voice is a little bit shaky, I'd never seen her like that before. "Care to join me, Draco?" There still some traces of tears on her face.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Granger?" I come to her, but she just escapes, she sits on the huge armchair and drinks directly from the bottle.

"I'm grieving, Malfoy. And I could use some company, actually."

No. No, not going to happen.

I take the chair, I sit right in front of her. "Hermione, I know you're hurt, but you shouldn't—"

"I've never been drunk before, you know? I never had a reason. And now I have, I guess: my father is dead. My dad is just gone. He died and I didn't even get the chance to tell him he's got a daughter who loves him." The tears start falling down again, and that's when she starts drinking.

"But your mom is not," I tell her quietly. "Why didn't you—"

"Make her remember? Oh, please. She's got a boyfriend, or whoever that man is. She's got a girl she's treating like a daughter. If she remembered—she would be heartbroken. Stay here, with her new family, or go back to England, where she has a daughter? It would be hard for her, Draco. Too hard. I put the spell to protect her from getting hurt, and I won't remove it because of the exact same reason. Do I really need to explain all this?"

She drinks and I just watch her, because I have no idea how to stop her from falling apart. 

And I don't, I guess. She drinks, she cries, she puts some music on (from this strange muggle's thing), and when she cries a little bit louder I just hold her. She lets the bottle slip away from her hands and she just cries and holds onto me.

"She wouldn't be pleased if she remembered me anyway," she mumbles. 

"Are you joking?" I'm whispering. I can't make my voice to sound better, stronger, louder. "Anyone should be lucky to have you, Gra—Hermione. Anyone."

"Yeah?" she laughs sadly. "Why is that so?" She moves away from me, she's on her armchair again.

Do I really need to tell her this? (I don't know how drunk she is, I don't know how much from it she'll remember tomorrow). "Because you're brave, selfless and beautiful, and you've got the kindest nature and the most brilliant mind of all the people I've ever known."

She scoffs. "You can be really kind when you just want to get rid of me, Malfoy. You'd like me to just go to the bed and leave you alone, isn't that right? You don't want to be my babysitter."

Even when she's drunk, she's really smart. "Granger—"

"Or is that how you really think?" She tilts her head at me, interested. "Is that why you slept with me?"

(I slept with you because I love you). "I think you should go to sleep."

She huffs and turns her head away.

I don't know what I'm doing, but I tell her anyway, "And just so you know, I'm not a total bastard. Astoria was never my true fiancé. I didn't cheat on her."

"Oh, but I know."

What the hell now? "What? How come?"

She looks at me again and grins victoriously. "I figured it out. She's not the type of person who wouldn't find out or who would forgive you for something like that, yet here you are. Meaning you've been single then. Could you give me the bottle, please?"

"No." I've got to stay strong. "Hermione—"

"Do you really think so?" She looks into my eyes. "That I'm beautiful? You always make these jokes, and—"

"I'm sorry about your parents," I say. "They should know about you. They'd be really proud."

She sniffles. "I always thought Ron would be the one helping me and comforting, being here with me," she confesses. "And here I am, being here with you."

God, she's drunk. Alright, let her talk. I lean against the coffee table. "Oh, really."

"Yeah. Strange, isn't that? I wouldn't thought about it, never. When I knew it wouldn't be Ron, when we broke up, I thought about Ginny, but then Harry would have to come with us and I didn't want to make a crowd or be a third wheel. Besides, Harry can't even leave London. He's an Auror now, you know? And my break up is because of you, by the way. You told me leave him."

"Really."

"Yes! Yes, you did. You said I deserve someone better. Krum, even! Ron was always so jealous of him. I kind of miss him right now, truth be told. I really do. I got used to him being on my side. And now—I guess we'll be going back to London soon, and it's good. I miss my friends, I miss them. Even Ron. They're my only family now."

(You still have me). "Did you find out what was he lying about?"

"Yes!" she laughs. "You won't believe, Malfoy, but he was looking for the Ressurection Stone."

"The what?" Now I'm shocked.

"One of the Deathly Hallows. He didn't tell anyone about it. He just missed Fred so much, he still does, and—well. He didn't want anyone at his side, including me. After we broke up, Ginny finally made him tell and then she told me, and me and Ron talked finally, but we came to conclusion we weren't good as couple anyway. So—" She shrugs. "And what about you and Parkinson? Done with playing with her?"

"Long time ago."

"Why? You didn't seem to mind playing with her emotions in the past few years."

"It was different, it was before the war. Granger—" I sigh. Why is it so hard? "I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"Everything."

She's silent for a moment. She's watching me, and then she speaks again, "Dance with me."

Look at her. "What?"

She points on the muggle's thing, the one that's playing the music. "It's slow melody. I want to dance. And I want you to dance with me."

I'm afraid she might fall, and yet: I stand up, reach my hand to her. "Hope you're a good dancer, Granger."

"When you think you've been too kind, you're turning mean again. What for?" She takes my hand and stands up. She's so short, so small (so beautiful). "Now, what did you really want to say?"

(What is she doing to me?). I groan frustratedly, but I tell her anyway. "I'm sure you're a good dancer, Hermione."

She chuckles lightly. "I won't believe you really wanted to say it, but let it be. I'm too tired for fighting. I'm so tired. I've been looking for so long and he's dead."

There's so much pain in her.

I pull her closer to myself, I put my arms around her. I hug her and hold her close. "He'd be proud of you."

She doesn't respond, so I don't say anything more. We're just dancing (she's great at dancing). We just do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, don't kill me. Please.  
> I was going to make a happy end about Hermione's parents. Truly! I even wrote the version where Hermione's already making a spell that makes them remember her again, but then I was like, 'Wait'. I didn't feel it, you know? It's just a fanfiction, sure, but it doesn't mean it can't be realistic. I just couldn't picture it. While watching this scene in the movies, I was feeling like she kind of said her good-bye to them, you know? And Idk, I just couldn't feel it, write it. So don't hate me.  
> Perhaps I'll publish another version later on, the happy one. Perhaps. And names of Hermione's parents are unknown, so I gave Jean (Hermione's second name) and Hugo, 'cause in the original, J.K. Rowling's version Hermione's son's name is Hugo and I was like, 'When did that came from?'. So, there's that.


	22. I have known it all this time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am the richest man on the whole planet.

"Malfoy."

"Yes." I drank to much, I know I did. Dear Lord, my head. It's late, it's dark outside and we both should go to sleep. The bottle is empty now, we're both too drunk (Hermione's more than I am, though).

"I'm sorry, too."

She's been crying, and then she's been silent again. She started singing and humming, but now she stopped.

I raise my head, look at her. She looks kind and funny. She definitely shouldn't be laying on the table, but I'm too tired and too sad and too drunk to take care of it.

"About what, Granger?" You've got nothing to apologize for.

"You were one of the meanest, baddest children I've ever met, but I'm sorry you had to be a Death Eater and the whole wizarding world hated you for it. I'm sorry about that.

Is she insane? (The whole wizarding world still hates me, actually). What is she talking about? "Bullocks, Granger. Nothing to be sorry for. It was my decision."

"Yeah," she looks up at the ceiling, "but if you had any others options, would you really made it?"

What does she want from me? "You should go to sleep. It's late, you're drunk."

"Answer my question."

She's always stubborn, alcohol won't simply change it. "I had other options," I growl. "Let it go now."

"What other options? You'd risk your parents' death."

"We could go to Dumbledore. He could protect us, we could hide. My mother would agree to that, she—" She was terrified at some point. She would agree to it, I'm sure of it. But my father...and Dark Lord...and me, myself, I thought that was a chance, that all of us would make it out alive...Why the hell have I ever wanted to save my father in the first place? What the fuck is wrong with me?

"It's still risk. I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but—you had no choice, Draco."

I chuckle. How many times have been I telling myself that, wanting to actually believe it? "Do you honestly believe that, Granger? Because even you can't be that naive."

She winces but I look at her, I see her. Shadows on her face, flashes in her eyes, the belief. I see it, I see her. I love you, I want to tell her. Thank you for understanding and I love you so goddamn much, Hermione. It practically hurts me. 

I don't say a word.

"Do you really dye your hair?" she asks me really quietly.

I snort. "Of course not. Who told you that?"

"Your friend, obviously. The brown-haired friend. Blaise. What's his family name again?"

"Zabini."

"Ah, yes. Blaise Zabini. The one who's been talking to Ginny." She sighs, looking a little bit disappointed. "You don't dye your hair, then?"

"Obviously not. It's all natural, Granger."

"Ha. Sure. I won't believe it, you know? I'll find out what your secret is, Draco Malfoy."

(My secret is that I'm hopelessly and tragically in love with you, you smartass). I sigh heavily, and then she asks, "I'm drunk, right?"

Have to think about that for a moment. "Yes, I think you are."

She burts into laughter, a really loud one. And then, she's silent. "I should go back to sleep."

Her voice is so quiet and soft that I must look up at her. Is she going to be sick? Or cry again? "Granger—"

"No, no, I won't throw up. Cry, perhaps. It's possible. Lately I've been crying a lot," she smiles weakly to me.

"I know," I say. I feel a little bit sick, truth be told. "And I'm sorry about it, too."

"You're always sorry, aren't you?"

I've got my reasons, Hermione. I should be sorry. I should be apologizing for the rest of my goddamn life. 

I stand up and hurry towards her, to help her get down from the table. She holds my hands, runs into me. And smiles lightly as she looks up at me. "I think you've apologized many times and that's enough."

I shake my head, but say nothing more about that. I can't trust my own tongue right now. "You want me to take you to bed?"

"No, no. I can walk by myself. Besides, I don't think I want you to stay."

I straight up immediately. "Lord, Granger, I wouldn't! You—"

"Who knows? Perhaps I'd change my mind and ask you to. Perhaps I'd told you to go—" she stops when I growl back at her, "—and then I'd go."

She watches me for a minute or two, frowning. She's probably so tired she doesn't even understand words I'm saying, so I calm down. I should go to bed, too. I sigh and kiss her quickly on the cheek (it's hot and still wet from her tears; poor little one). "Just go to sleep, Granger, huh? Goodnight."

"Yeah," she whispers in the darkness I leave her in. "Goodnight, Malfoy. Sweet dreams."

Yeah. That's not going to happen: I've been having nightmares about my father since we arrived in this bloody country.

But this night, I don't.

***

Oh Lord, it's serenely. And loud. My head, bloody hell.

Granger's been drinking, I remember. She's been saying and asking me many things, I remember all of that. I kissed her on the cheek: this one I remember, too. But the rest of it? Why on Earth I started drinking with her? Am I an idiot? (And we've been dancing, too. And it was so beautiful and peaceful, God).

I know why it's loud. I can hear her, walking and humming and doing something; living or dining room? Hard to tell, really, but I know she's up. And I know she's feeling quite well, since she's humming. She only does it when she's in a good moon (how much she remembers?). It's good, and yet...I don't have strength to go to her, talk to her. Acting like nothing ever happened was always so easy and now it's not (strange). I'm not sure if I can do it. And I'm not sure if I'm ready to hear the words 'We're going back to London today'.

No rush. It takes me a really long time before I finally appear in the living room.

It's empty. I can hear her in the kitchen and I don't follow her. I just go to the balcony, watch the sea...think about how I let her down. I promised I'd protect her and I don't think letting her get drunk and sad means protecting her. 

"It's a long shower you've had been taking."

Turn around (am I still sleeping and dreaming?). She's a goddamn angel, I swear to Merlin. Beautiful and kind and gentle, smiling kindly to me (why?). I almost smile back, but all I manage is, "Hangover."

"Yeah, I know. I've got some potion left in the dining room if you want some." She takes a step to me, one and then another one. "You hungry?"

Starving. "No, not really." Watch her face closely, but it doesn't look like she's been crying. She looks...calm. "You all right, Granger?"

"I think so, yes." She walks to me...and hugs me. 

Suddenly her arms are just around me and her head is on my chest listening to my heartbeat and oh my Lord I'm shaking what the hell are you doing right now, Hermione? "What—"

"I wanted to thank you," she whispers and raises her head to look at me.

I know this look. I recognize it. I sigh. "Hermione, no, I'm—"

"You've been there for me last night," she says. "I don't remember much, but I remember how you were listening to me and dancing with me and drinking with me, and holding me. This much I remember. You don't owe me anything and yet you didn't leave me."

I would never. "It's—"

But then I look at her, at her beautiful face, at her big, brown eyes. And then I remember.

I want a happy relationship with a man I will want to marry someday. 

Happy. I guess we could be happy, couldn't we? I suppose we can try, at least. Just try. 

I lean down and kiss her.

Her lips are so warm and her hair is so soft when I hide my hands in it. She sighs and I pull her closer to me, trap her in my arms. Where she belongs. 

I will be better. I will be a better person just for you, I promise. I promise. I swear it you.

"You already are."

I froze, I open my eyes and look at her. Very slowly, very puzzled. What—

Bloody hell, I said it aloud. She heard it. "I mean—"

"You already are, and you'll be even better because you want to." She stops, she looks me in the eye and smiles brightly. "Is it alright to talk about your feelings now?"

It's never good moment for it, but what choice do I have? She deserves it, she has to know. I think she can handle this. And I think I want to tell her this. "I guess."

"I can start if you want to," she offers. We're not kissing, but still in each other's arms. It's totally new for me, to be honest: her arms around me, her looking up at me with warmness and tenderness in her eyes. "You know, I think I always felt some kind of attraction and curiosity, truth be told. I hated you, but this year I just noticed—I just found—"

"I never hated you." The words are out before I can stop them and I don't even try to. Hermione just listens. "I never could. From the second I laid my eyes on you for the first time, I—I guess normal people call it falling in love. And it's correct, I think. I just fell. And I hated this, obviously, and I hated myself, and I hated Potter and Weasley that they got to have you, and I tried to hate you, but you were just—impossible to hate. You make me question everything and it was driving me insane, Hermione, it really was. I hated this feeling. But, Lord, privilege of seeing you every day, even if I was mean and cruel and you despised me—that was enough. And this year, I don't know, it's just—I was scared before and I came back to Hogwarts just as scared. And damaged, as you said."

She chuckles silently. "Will you always remind me about this?"

(Perhaps. Who knows if we got our always, Hermione). I touch her forearm; really gently. She's wearing a long shirt, I can't see her scar now, but I know it's there. It always will be. "I can't forgive myself for this. You don't have to believe me, but it's true. I will never understand why I haven't done a damn thing. In the name of what? Pure blood? It's all just—"

She kisses me.

She interrupts me and kisses me, and then she does it once more, and again, and again. And I'm so surprised I can barely breathe out, "Don't you want to talk anymore?"

"Hush. Shut up, Malfoy."

I smile. I can't help it anymore, I can't fight it. I just smile. "Do you believe me?"

"How could I not?" she laughs. "If you'd tell me this year ago I would laugh, I really would. But now—I see who you are. How much you've changed. And I see you want to change even more. It's so noticeable, Draco, and I'm not the only one who's seeing it. I'm just sorry I understood it now, but—maybe I wasn't ready before, and now I am."

"Ready for what?"

"To see who you really are. You've got time for confessions, Draco. And I'll believe it all. I saw I can trust you and believe you and that's why I kissed you for the first time. And when you found this location, I just couldn't believe there's someone who would do that for me." She shakes her head, she sighs. "You make me question everything, too. And fight with many things in my own head, things that were telling me you're not worth it."

"I—"

"But you are," she adds really quickly. "You are. You've changed. And you made me feel things I've never felt." She touches my cheek. "And what happened to you is not your fault, to be clear. You didn't choose it and I don't blame you, and I understand."

I could never even ask of it, dream about it. I never dared. And I don't think I'll ever hear something so beautiful again (is it pathetic? Do I really care, though?) "Hermione, it's—" 

"I love you."

My heart is beating so fast I might just die. And I can. I really can.

Hermione Jean Granger. The girl I've been watching for so long, admiring and loving all this time. This girl always in my mind, in my dreams, always around me. She wouldn't let go. And I could never let her go, ever. 

I suddenly see her mischevious smile. "You don't have to say it back, of course, as you never tell how you feel, but I'd be really nice of you if you once in a while—"

I kiss her. I kiss her so hard and so emotionally she shouts silently, suprised; that's the moment I move away (not too away, though; I can't stay away and I will never, not anymore). "I love you. I love you so much and I will tell it to you every day if you want to. I love you, you brilliant little witch."

She chuckles, she kisses me. Then she laughs, honestly and loudly, and kisses me again, over and over.

I kiss her back. I will never stop kissing her back - as long as she wants me to, I will.

And, eventually, she doesn't want. She stops, she smiles, she kisses my forehead (God, this warm feeling in my stomach; is this even normal?). "I love you too," she says, "but I also want to go on a walk. Like, right now."

Obviously. I watch her as she takes a step away. I still have my hands on hers, though, I'm still holding her. Now I think it's impossible to ever let her go.

She smiles. "Care to join me?"

Always.

I just nod and watch her when she leans on the balustrade and glances at the sea she's going to swim in (later). I stand by her, I take her hand and she smiles. She lets our fingers cross.

She's looking to the west, to the England and London, with whole future in front of us. Well, I'm not sure if i'm still rich, but even if I'm not...

I smile. I look at her and I realize - yes, yes I am. I am the richest man on the whole planet.

London, be prepared for future Hermione Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go!   
> God, I'd never thought I'll actually write and publish all of it. But it's not that bad, I think?  
> Thanks all of you guys, for your comments and Kudos and everything. I hope I didn't disappoint any of you.  
> Much love

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! It's my first chapter in the Ao3. I hope it's enjoyable.


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